ENGLISH    LITEKATURE 


LONGMANS'    HANDBOOK 

OF 

ENGLISH  LITEEATUEE 

BY 

K.  MCWILLIAM,  B.A. 

INSPECTOR  Or  SCHOOLS  TO  THE  LONDON  COUNTY  COUNCIL 

FROM  A.D.  673  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME 


NEW     IMPRESSION. 

LONGMANS,     GEEEN,     AND     CO. 

91  &  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 
LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 

1905 
All   rights   reserved 


PBEFACE 


THE  PRESENT  VOLUME  is  the  outcome  of  an  attempt  to 
place  in  the  hands  of  pupil  teachers  and  other  young 
students  a  simple  and  interesting  story  of  the  great 
English  writers.  Some  time  ago,  much  ingenuity  was 
exercised  in  making  a  selection  of  the  best  hundred 
books,  and  it  was  considered  that  for  busy  people  such 
a  number  gave  ample  scope  for  reading.  In  somewhat 
similar  fashion,  we  now  make  choice  of  about  a  hundred 
best  English  writers,  and  invite  young  students  to  con- 
fine themselves  in  the  first  instance  to  these. 

And  as  the  hundred  best  books  by  their  variety  gave 
materials  suited  to  varying  moods  and  tastes,  so  our 
list  of  English  writers  is  meant  to  give  a  picture  of 
the  progress  of  English  literature  from  its  first  rude 
beginnings,  through  its  times  of  alternate  flourishing 
and  languor,  and  to  show  its  varying  aims  in  poetry 
and  philosophy  and  divinity. 

The  selection  of  names  for  such  a  list  can  never  be 
ideally  perfect,  and  Butler  and  Thomson  in  poetry,  and 
Hobbes  and  Hume  in  philosophy,  are  only  some  of  the 
names  which  have  been  omitted  with  reluctance  and 
misgiving.  Still,  it  is  hoped  that  no  name  has  been 

267779 


vi         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

included  which  could  well  have  been  spared,  and  that 
those  which  are  given  do  really  form  an  unbroken  line 
of  aim  and  achievement  in  the  several  provinces  of 
English  literature. 

In  giving  account  of  the  lives  of  writers,  special  care 
has  been  taken,  wherever  it  was  possible,  to  trace  the 
history  of  their  youth,  and  of  the  influences  which 
guided  and  moulded  them ;  and  in  choosing  illustra- 
tive extracts,  preference  has  always  been  given  to 
those  which  are  either  professedly  or  indirectly  auto- 
biographical in  character. 

And  as  only  the  best  writers  have  been  chosen,  so 
special  attention  has  been  directed  only  upon  their  most 
excellent  work.  To  kindle  admiration  in  the  minds  of 
young  students  is  for  them  more  immediately  bene- 
ficial ;  the  critical  spirit  will  come  later  with  fuller 
knowledge  and  riper  judgment. 

The  matter  for  this  volume  has  been  chiefly  gained 
from  a  careful  re-study  of  the  lives  and  works  of  the 
great  English  writers,  but  valuable  help  has  been  sought 
and  found  in  all  kinds  of  places.  Books  of  criticism, 
articles  in  magazines  and  reviews,  and  monographs  of 
special  writers,  have  all  been  laid  under  contribution, 
and  it  is  hoped  that  a  certain  breadth  and  freshness 
have  been  thereby  secured. 

In  printing  the  illustrative  extracts,  the  greatest  care 
has  been  taken  to  follow  the  best  editions,  and  to  pre- 
serve the  ancient  spelling  and  punctuation.  This  seems 
in  itself  a  small  matter,  but  to  the  genuine  student 
anything  which  brings  him  in  closer  touch  with  Chaucer 
or  Shakspere  or  Bacon  will  be  welcome. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Beginnings  of  English  Lite- 
rature   .        ,        ,  -1 
Bzeda       .                 ....       3 

Csedmon       .        .        ...        .6 

The  Ruthwell  Cross     .         .     .      8 

'Beowulf 10 

King  Alfred 14 

The  Saxon  Chronicles          .         .17 

jElfric 20 

The  Latest  Saxon  Chronicle       .     23 
Remains  of  Saxon  Literature      ,     25 
Influence  of   the   Norman   Con- 
quest           27 

Latin  and  French  Literature  of 

the  Norman  Period  .     .     30 

Old  English  Homilies  .         .     32 

The '  Ormulum '  .         .     .     88 

Layamon  .  .  .  .  .36 
The  '  Ancren  Riwle  '  .  .  38 

'  Life  of  St.  Juliana  '  .  .  .39 
'  The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale  ' .  41 
'  King  Horn '  .  .  ,45 

Robert  of  Gloucester       .         .     .     48 


Literature    of    the     Thirteenth 

Century 51 

(a)  Proverbs  of  Alfred     .         .  51 

(6)  Genesis  and  Exodus      .     .  51 

(c)  Moral  Ode  .        .        .         .52 

(d)  Dialects 53 

Romances 54 

Northumbrian  Literature,  in  the 

Fourteenth  Century     .        .5? 

(a)  '  Cursor  Mundi '     .         .     .  57 

(6)  Metrical  Homilies      .         .  59 

(c)  The  Hermit  of  Hampole    .  6C 

Robert  of  Bourne        ...  61 

English   Prose  Writers  of    the 

Fourteenth  Century     .         .  64 

Mandeville  .        .         .         .     .  64 

Wyclif 66 

John  of  Trevisa  .        .        .     .  69 

'  Piers  Plowman '         ...  71 

Chaucer 79 

Chaucer's  Earlier  Poems    .        .  84 

(a)  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  84 

.(&)  The  Boke  of  the  Duchesse  H5 

(c)  The  Parlement  of  Briddea  86 


VI 11 


CONTENTS 


I'AGK 

The  Canterbury  Tales         .        .    88 
The  Prologue       .        .        .     .    89 

The  Tales 92 

Contemporaries    and   Followers 

of  Chaucer    .         .        .        .99 

(a)  Gower 99 

(b)  Occleve       .        .        .        .102 

(c)  Lydgate 108 

The  Fifteenth  Century        .        .  107 
Caxton    and    the    Invention    of 

Printing        .        .        .        .110 

Morte  d' Arthur        .        .        .     .  118 

The  Ballad  of  Chevy  Chase         .  115 

Early  Scottish  Poetry     .        .     .  119 

John  Barbour  ....  119 

King  James  1 121 

Hawes  and  Skelton     .        .        .128 
William    Dunbar    and    Gawen 

Douglas         .        .        .        .126 

Two  Prose  Writers          .        .    .  180 

Baron  Berners          .        .        .  181 

William  Tyndale          .        .     .  132 

Sir  David  Lyndsay      .        .        .134 

The  New  Learning — Ascham.     .  139 

Italian  Influence — Lord  Surrey  .  142 

Sir  Philip  Sidney    .        .        .    .  146 

The  Reformers    ....  151 

Hugh  Latimer     .        .        .    .  152 

John  Knox        ....  154 

Euphuism — Lyly    .        .        .     .  159 

Hooker 168 

Spenser 168 

The  Early  English  Drama  .        .  176 
Christopher  Marlowe      .        .    .  180 


Shakspere    .... 
Shakspere's  Sonnets 
Shakspere's  Earlier  Plays  . 
Shakspere's  Later  Plays 


PACT; 
.  185 

.  192 
.  196 

.    'JIM) 

Raleigh 203 

Bacon 200 

Ben  Jonson 219 

The  Minor  Dramatists  of  Shak- 
spere's Age   .        .        .        .238 
Thomas  Dekker  .        .         .     .  234 
Thomas  Heywood    .         .         .  286 
John  Webster      .         .         .     .  287 
Philip  Massinger     .         .         .240 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher      .     .  248 
Two  Brothers       .        .         .         .248 
George  Herbert   .         .        .     .  249 
Edward  Lord  Herbert     .        .  252 
Jeremy  Taylor         .        .         .     .  256 
Two  Prose  Writers      .        .        .260 
Robert  Burton     .        .        .     .  261 
Sir  Thomas  Browne          .        .  265 

John  Milton 268 

Isaac  Barrow        .        .        .        .282 

Two  Historians        .         .         .     .  286 

Earl  of  Clarendon    .        .        .286 

Bishop  Burnet     .        .        *    .  288 

Izaak  Walton       .         .        .        .290 

John  Bunyan 294 

John  Dryden        .        .        .        .299 

John  Locke 317 

The  Age  of  Queen  Anne      .        .  825 
Jonathan  Swift        .         .         .     .  885 
The      Essayists  —  Steele     and 
Addison    .  .  847 


CONTENTS 


IX 


Alexander  Pope  . 

PACrB                                                                                         TAOF 

.  358       Shelley    ...                 .     .  498 

Bishop  Berkeley     . 

.    .  373      Carlyle          .                          . 

508 

Two  Letter  Writers     . 

.  378      Dickens  and  Thackeray  .        .     . 

517 

Lady  M.  W.  Montagu 

•     •  378      John  Ruskin        .... 

527 

Horace  Walpole 

•JQi) 

Tennyson  and  Browning         .     . 

535 

Bishop  Butler 

The  Nineteenth  Century     . 

545 

Thomas  Gray 

.  391 

Edinburgh      and      Quarterly 

The  Novelists  . 

.     .  898 

Reviews    .        .        ... 

546 

Daniel  Defoe    . 

.  398 

Tom  Moore 

547 

Samuel  Bichardson 

399 
Samuel  Rogers     .        .         .     . 

548 

Henry  Fielding 

403 
Charles  Lamb  .... 

549 

Tobias  Smollett  . 

Thomas  Campbell        .         .     . 

551 

Lawrence  Sterne 

Leigh  Hunt      .... 

553 

Johnson  and  Boswell 

•     '  417          John  Keats  

554 

Oliver  Goldsmith 

.  424 

Macaulay          . 

557 

Gibbon     . 

.     .  431 

Newman       .        .        .        .    . 

559 

William  Cowper  . 

.  436 

Mill           

561 

Burke  and  the  French 

Revolu- 

Darwin        

563 

tioii  . 

.    .  443 

James  Anthony  Froude  . 

565 

Robert  Burns 

.  449 

George  Eliot        .        .        .     . 
Matthew  Arnold 

568 
569 

William  Wordsworth 

.     .  456 

Coleridge  and  Southey 

467      Summary         

572 

Scott 

.    .  480  1   Chronological  Table  of  English 

.  489  '           Writers          .... 

604 

HANDBOOK 

OF 

ENGLISH     LITBEATUEB, 

THE   BEGINNINGS  OF   ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

OUR  English  forefathers  who  came  to  England  in  the 
fifth  and  sixth  centuries  brought  with  them  no  litera- 
ture. They  were  not  destitute  of  the  art  of  writing,  for 
they  had  their  runes,  but  the  use  of  these  signs  appears 
to  have  been  greatly  restricted,  and  perhaps  seldom  ex- 
tended beyond  a  proverb  or  magic  formula  carved  upon 
a  sword-blade  or  on  an  ornament. 

The  early  English  tribes  also  possessed  songs  and 
legends,  but  they  were  unwritten,  and  were  preserved  in 
the  memories  of  gleemen  or  minstrels,  who  roamed  far 
and  wide,  and  were  welcomed  everywhere.  One  of  the 
very  oldest  songs  we  possess  describes  the  wanderings 
through  many  lands  of  a  gleernan  named  'Wid-sith,' 
i.e.  (  Far-traveller.'  There  is  little  beauty  in  the  poem, 
for  it  is  in  great  part  a  string  of  names  of  countries  and 
peoples,  and  in  its  present  written  form  it  does  not  truly 
represent  the  primitive  language  which  the  gleeman  used. 

While  the  long  and  fierce  struggle  for  the  possession 

B 


2          HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  Britain  lasted,  the  English  remained  heathen  and 
illiterate ;  but  when  the  storm  of  conquest  had  abated, 
and  when  Christianity  with  its  gentle  influences  made  its 
way  among  these  fierce  tribes,  then  literature  began  to 
be  cultivated. 

The  glory  of  the  beginnings  of  this  literature  belongs 
to  the  north  rather  than  to  the  south  of  England — to  the 
Angles  rather  than  to  the  Saxons.  In  the  beginning  of  the 
seventh  century  Northumbria  gained  a  position  of  supre- 
macy which  was  not  entirely  lost  for  nearly  two  centuries. 
In  617  Eadwine  became  king,  and  Britons,  Mercians, 
East  Anglians  and  West  Saxons  submitted  to  him,  and 
'  A  woman  with  her  babe  might  walk  scatheless  from  sea 
to  sea  in  Eadwine's  day.'  He  fell  in  battle  against  the 
heathen  Mercians  in  633,  but  Oswald,  the  saintly  king, 
took  his  place,  and  maintained  the  supremacy  till  he 
also  fell  in  642,  and  his  successor,  Oswi,  broke  the  power 
of  the  Mercians  in  655,  and  reigned  in  peace  till  670. 
Ecgfrith,  who  reigned  next,  still  further  extended  the 
power  of  Northumbria,  by  subduing  the  British  kingdom 
of  Cumbria,  and  a  new  bishopric  was  founded  in  Gallo- 
way. But  in  685  this  king  fell  in  battle  against  the 
Picts  beyond  the  Forth,  and  the  pt  litical  supremacy  of 
Northumbria  passed  away  for  ever. 

But  during  this  period  spiritual  and  intellectual 
forces  had  been  working,  whose  influences  did  not  cease, 
but  which  made  Northumbria  for  another  century  to  be  a 
centre  from  which  the  light  of  learning  and  religion 
streamed  over  Western  Europe. 

King  Oswald  in  his  youth  had  been  sheltered  in  St. 
Coluniba's  monastery  of  lona,  and  when  he  became 


THE  BEGINNINGS   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  3 

king,  he  invited  missionaries  to  convert  his  kingdom. 
Aidan  came  and  fixed  his  bishop's  seat  in  Lindisfarne, 
and  from  thence  he  went  forth  on  foot  with  the  king  to 
convert  the  peasants  of  Yorkshire  and  Northumberland. 
A  little  later  Cuthbert  founded  a  monastery  at  Melrose, 
and  journeyed  unweariedly  as  a  missionary  through  the 
mountain  villages  of  the  Lowlands.  After  years  of  such 
labour  he  also  came  to  Lindisfarne,  and  died  in  685,  in 
the  year  when  the  overlordship  of  Northumbria  ceased. 

Some  twenty  or  thirty  years  earlier  than  this,  Hild, 
a  noble  lady  of  royal  blood,  founded  at  Streonoshalh 
(Whitby)  a  monastery  which  became  very  famous. 
Within  its  walls  were  reared  John,  the  St.  John  of 
Beverley ;  Wilfrid,  the  great  Bishop  of  York ;  and  Caed- 
mon,  our  first  English  poet.  Whitby  became  the 
Westminster  of  the  north,  kings  and  queens  and  nobles 
were  buried  there,  and  a  memorable  synod  was  held 
within  its  walls. 

Farther  north,  and  a  little  later  in  time,  Benedict 
Biscop  founded  the  twin  monasteries  of  Wearmouth  and 
Jarrow,  and  gathered  into  them  a  rich  store  of  books  and 
pictures  and  works  of  art.  Within  these  walls  were  spent 
the  years  of  Baeda,  the  father  of  English  literature. 


B/EDA. 

was  born  in  673,  somewhere  in  the  strip  of 
country  lying  between  the  mouths  of  the  Wear  and 
Tyne.  Two  years  after  his  birth  this  strip  of  country 
was  granted  by  the  pious  king,  Ecgfrith,  to  Benedict  Bis- 
cop, a  nobleman  who  had  entered  the  Church,  and  who 

99 


4          HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

built  the  monastery  of  St.  Peter  at  Wearmouth,  and  a 
few  years  later  that  of  St.  Paul  at  Jarrow.  The  child 
Bseda  was  at  seven  years  of  age  placed  in  the  former 
monastery,  and  when  the  latter  was  built  he  was  trans- 
ferred there,  and  spent  within  its  walls  a  tranquil  happy 
life. 

In  these  twin  monasteries  Baeda  was  brought  under 
the  best  influences  of  the  time.  Benedict,  the  founder, 
travelled  to  Kome  four  or  five  times,  and  brought  back 
with  him  books,  pictures,  costly  relics,  and  other  works 
of  art.  John,  the  archchanter  of  St.  Peter's,  at  Kome, 
also  came,  and  the  people  crowded  to  hear  his  beautiful 
singing.  Other  teachers,  the  best  that  could  be  got, 
were  secured,  and  Bseda  became  proficient  in  Latin, 
Greek  and  Hebrew,  his  ardent  love  of  study  being 
doubtless  his  chief  helper.  'All  my  life,'  he  says,  'I 
spent  in  that  same  monastery,  giving  my  whole  atten- 
tion to  the  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  in  the  in- 
tervals between  the  hours  of  regular  discipline  and  the 
duties  of  singing  in  the  church,  I  always  took  pleasure 
in  learning  or  teaching  or  writing  something.' 

As  a  teacher  Baeda  was  famed,  and  the  school  at 
Jarrow  was  crowded  with  hundreds  of  pupils,  and  one 
of  these,  named  Cuthbert,  has  left  an  affecting  account 
of  his  master's  death  in  735  :— 

'  He  was  much  troubled  with  shortness  of  breath, 
yet  without  pain  before  the  day  of  our  Lord's  resurrec- 
tion, and  thus  he  continued  cheerful  and  rejoicing  till  the 
day  of  our  Lord's  ascension,  and  daily  read  lessons  to 
us,  his  disciples,  and  whatever  remained  of  the  day  he 
spent  in  singing  psalms.  Also  he  admonished  us  to 


5 

think  of  our  last  hour  and  to  shake  off  the  sleep  of  the 
soul,  and,  being  learned  in  our  poetry,  he  said  some  things 
also  in  our  tongue. 

'  Fore  the  neid  farse  Before  the  need  journey 

naenig  ni  uurthit  No  one  is  ever 

Thonc  snoturra  In  thought  more  wise 

than  him  tharf  sie  Than  he  hath  need 

To  ymbhycgannas  To  consider 

ser  his  bin  iongse  Ere  his  going  hence 

Huaet  his  gastas  What  to  his  soul 

godses  ffiththa  yflaes  .  Of  good  or  of  evil 

JEfter  deothdaege  After  death  day 

doemid  uueorthae.  Doomed  will  be. 

'  During  these  days  he  laboured  to  compose  two 
works  well  worthy  to  be  remembered,  viz.  he  translated 
the  Gospel  of  St.  John  as  far  as  the  words  "  But  what 
are  these  among  so  many?"  into  our  tongue  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Church,  and  some  collections  out  of  the 
Book  of  Notes  of  Bishop  Isidorus,  saying,  "I  will  not 
have  my  pupils  read  a  falsehood,  nor  labour  therein 
without  profit  after  my  death."  When  the  Tuesday 
before  the  Ascension  came  he  began  to  suffer  still  more 
in  his  breath;  and  a  small  swelling  appeared  in  his  feet, 
but  he  passed  all  that  day  and  dictated  cheerfully,  say- 
ing, "  Go  on  quickly ;  I  know  not  how  long  I  shall  hold 
out,"  and  when  the  morning  of  Wednesday  came  he 
bade  us  write  with  all  speed  what  he  had  begun.  He 
passed  the  day  joyfully  till  the  evening,  and  a  boy  said, 
"Dear  master,  there  is  yet  one  sentence  not  written." 
He  answered,  "Write  quickly."  Soon  after  the  boy 
said,  "  The  sentence  is  now  finished."  He  replied,  "  It 
is  well,  you  have  said  the  truth.  It  is  finished.  Keceive 
my  head  into  your  hands,  for  it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to 


6          HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

me  to  sit  facing  my  holy  place,  where  I  was  wont  to 
pray."  And  thus  on  the  pavement  of  his  little  cell, 
singing  "  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and 
to  the  Holy  Ghost,"  when  he  had  named  the  Holy  Ghost 
he  breathed  his  last,  and  so  departed  to  the  heavenly 
kingdom.' 

Baeda's  works  are  in  Latin  ;  they  are  very  numerous, 
and  on  many  different  subjects.  The  greater  number 
were  commentaries  and  expositions  of  books  of  Scripture, 
but  he  also  wrote  works  on  chronology,  astrology,  poetry, 
and  rhetoric.  Biography  was  a  favourite  subject  with 
him,  and  he  wrote  the  Lives  of  St.  Cuthbert  and  St. 
Felix,  and  also  the  Lives  of  the  abbots  of  his  own  monas- 
teries of  Wearrnouth  and  Jarrow. 

But  his  greatest  work  is  the  noble  '  Ecclesiastical 
History  of  the  English  People,'  with  its  beautiful  pic- 
tures of  the  introduction  of  Christianity  into  England. 


OEDMON. 

gives  the  following  account  of  Csedmon: — 'In 
the  minster  of  this  abbess  [Hild]  was  a  certain 
brother  who  was  singularly  graced  with  a  divine  gift  of 
making  songs  pertaining  to  piety  and  virtue,  and  by 
his  poems  the  hearts  of  many  men  were  incited  to  a 
contempt  of  the  world  and  to  the  companionship  of  the 
heavenly  life.  And  also  after  him  many  others  among 
English  folk  began  to  make  pious  songs,  but  none  so 
well  as  he,  for  it  was  not  through  men  that  he  received 
the  faculty  of  song,  but  he  was  divinely  helped.' 

Baeda  goes  on  to  tell  that  the  man  was  formerly  a 


neatherd,  with  no  power  of  song,  and  that  he  was  wont 
to  steal  away  from  the  company  when  his  turn  came  to 
play  on  the  harp  and  sing.  And  on  such  a  night  one 
appeared  to  him  in  a  dream  and  said,  '  Csedmon,  sing 
to  me  somewhat.'  He  said,  '  I  cannot  sing ; '  but  he 
who  spoke  said,  '  Still  you  must  sing  to  me.'  *  What 
shall  I  sing  ?  '  said  Caedmon,  and  the  answer  was,  '  Sing 
the  Creation.'  Then  Caedmon  began  to  sing  in  praise 
of  the  Creator  verses  which  he  had  never  heard  before, 
and  which  when  repeated  the  next  day  excited  the  wonder 
of  all  who  heard  them. 

The  verses  are  given  in  Latin  by  Bseda,  and  in  West 
Saxon  by  King  Alfred  in  his  translation  of  Bseda,  and 
they  are  written  in  what  is  believed  to  be  their  original 
Northumbrian  form  on  the  last  page  of  a  manuscript  of 
Bseda's  work  which  is  thought  to  date  back  to  737. 

The  verses  are  : — 

Nu  scylun  hergan  Now  must  we  praise 

hefaen  ricaes  uard  heaven  kingdom's  warden 

metudaes  maecti  the  Maker's  might 

end  his  modgidanc  and  his  mind's  thought 

uerc  uuldur  f adur  the  work  of  the  glorious  father 

sue  he  uundra  gibuses  how  he  of  every  wonder 

eci  dryctin  eternal  Lord 

or  astelidse.  formed  the  beginning. 

He  asrist  scop  He  first  shaped 

elda  barnum  for  earth's  children 

heben  til  hrofe,  heaven  for  roof, 

haleg  scepen  ;  holy  Shaper ; 

'$a  middungeard  then  mid-earth 

moncynnaes  uard,  mankind's  warden, 

eci  dryctin  eternal  Lord 

ffifter  tiadas  afterwards  produced 

firum  foldu  for  men  the  earth 

frea  allmectig.  Lord  Almighty. 


8          HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  these  lines  we  see  the  characteristics  of  early 
Anglo-Saxon  poetry :  the  short  abrupt  lines,  more  like 
interjections  than  sentences,  the  absence  of  connecting 
particles,  and  the  repetition  of  the  same  idea  in  varied 
phrases.  Thus  in  the  eighteen  lines  eight  express  God, 
three  the  making  of  the  earth,  and  three  the  earth 
itself. 

The  Ruthwell  Cross.— In  the  parish  of  Kuthwell, 
near  Dumfries,  is  an  ancient  cross  which  was  carved  and 
set  up,  so  it  is  thought,  about  the  year  680.  It  was 
adorned  with  scenes  from  the  Gospels,  and  on  the  sides 
were  runic  inscriptions  which  no  one  could  read.  For 
ages  it  stood  within  the  church,  but  was  thrown  down 
and  broken  in  1642,  and  served  as  a  seat  for  the  wor- 
shippers for  another  century.  Then  it  was  removed  to 
the  manse  garden,  the  broken  fragments  were  restored 
as  well  as  they  might  be,  and  in  1840  Kemble  deciphered 
the  runes,  and  found  they  were  some  forty  lines  of  a 
Northumbrian  poem  on  the  Rood.  About  the  same  time 
there  was  discovered  at  Vercelli  in  the  Milanese  an  ancient 
manuscript  book  of  Anglo-Saxon  poems,  and  among 
them  one  of  great  beauty,  which  contained  the  fragments 
carved  on  the  Ruthwell  cross.  The  top  stone  of  the 
cross  has  a  runic  inscription,  which  was  till  lately  over- 
looked. It  is  '  Cadmon  mae  fauaej*),'  '  Cadmon  made 
me,'  and  this  is  taken  not  unreasonably  to  prove  that 
Baeda's  Caedmon  was  the  author  of  this  beautiful  poem. 
The  poet  dreams  a  wonderful  dream  : — 

puhte  me  "Saet  ic  gesawe  Methought  I  saw 

sellic  treow  a  marvellous  tree 

911  lyft  Isedan  in  air  uplifted 


C^EDMON  9 

leohte  bewunden  with  light  rays  mantling 

beama  beorhtost :  of  beams  the  brightest : 

call  ftffit  beacen  wses  all  that  beacon  was 

begoten  mid  golde.  flooded  with  gold. 

Hwseftre  ic  |>urh  Saet  gold  Yet  I  through  that  gold 

9ngitan  meahte  might  see 

earmra  asrgewinn  of  the  grim  ones  the  ancient  strife 

"Saet  hit  serest  9ngann  that  it  first  began 

swsetan  9n  fta  swi'Sran  healfe.  to  trickle  from  its  right  side. 

The  rood  itself  begins  to  speak,  and  tells  of  its  hor- 
ror and  that  of  all  nature  when  Christ  was  crucified. 

Scirne  sciman  The  bright  rays 

sceadu  for)>e6de  shadow  overcame 

wann  under  wolcnum  wan  under  clouds 

weop  call  gesceaft  wept  all  creation 

cwi'Sdon  cyninges  fill :  bewailed  the  slaughter  of  the  king : 

Crist  wees  9n  rode.  Christ  was  on  the  cross. 

The  poem  closes  with  a  solemn  dedication  by  the  poet 
of  himself  to  God's  service. 

Baeda,  continuing  his  account  of  Csedmon,  says  that 
the  abbess  directed  that  he  should  leave  the  secular  life, 
and  she  bade  the  brothers  teach  him  the  whole  course  of 
the  sacred  history ;  and  Csedmon,  thinking  over  all  that 
he  heard,  and,  like  a  clean  beast  chewing  the  cud,  turned 
it  all  into  the  sweetest  song,  which  was  so  delightful  to 
hear  that  his  very  teachers  wrote  it  down  from  his  lips 
and  learned  it.  He  sang  first  of  the  creation  of  the 
earth,  and  of  mankind,  and  all  the  story  of  Genesis,  and 
then  the  outgoing  of  Israel  from  Egypt  and  the  entry 
into  the  land  of  promise,  and  many  other  stories  from 
the  holy  book ;  also  he  sang  of  Christ's  birth  and  His 
sufferings,  and  the  ascension  into  heaven  and  the  coming 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  the  teaching  of  the  apostles  ;  also 


io        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  the  fear  of  the  judgment  to  come  arid  the  terror  of 
the  torments  of  hell,  and  the  sweetness  of  the  heavenly 
kingdom. 

Caedmon's  Paraphrase. — In  1655  Franciscus  Junius 
published  from  a  manuscript  of  about  the  date  1000  a 
volume  of  Saxon  poetry,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
work  of  Caedmon  from  its  agreement  with  Bseda's  de- 
scription. It  is  not,  however,  now  considered  to  be  the 
work  of  one  author,  and  it  has  been  divided  thus  :— 

(1)  The  exordium  and  the  creation  of  man. 

(2)  The  fall  of  the  angels  and  man. 

(3)  Later  history  to  the  death  of  Abraham. 

(4)  Moses  and   the    exodus   to  the   destruction  of 
Pharaoh. 

(5)  History  of  Daniel  (first  five  chapters). 

(6)  Descent  of  Christ  into  hell. 

The  story  of  the  fall  of  the  angels  displays  much 
imagination  and  power  of  execution,  and  it  possesses 
striking  points  of  resemblance  to  an  old  Saxon  poem  of 
the  Continent  called  the  '  Heliand.' 

The  poem  also  contains  expressions  curiously  re- 
sembling lines  in  the  *  Paradise  Lost,'  and  it  has  been 
thought  that  Milton,  from  his  acquaintance  with  Junius, 
may  have  learnt  something  of  the  scope  and  language  of 
the  poem. 


1  BEOWULF.' 

THIS  magnificent  relic  of  Saxon  literature  is  preserved 
in  a  single  manuscript,  which  narrowly  escaped  destruc- 
tion by  fire  in  1731.  The  edges  of  the  leaves  are  cracked 


'BEOWULF^  ii 

and  crumbling,  but  the  whole  work  has  now  been  fac- 
similed by  photography.  Many  eminent  scholars  have 
edited  or  elucidated  the  poem,  or  have  constructed  in- 
genious theories  as  to  its  age  and  authorship,  and  as  to 
the  locality  where  the  scene  is  placed. 

The  poem  consists  of  over  6,000  short  lines,  and  is  in 
two  parts.  In  the  first  the  youthful  hero  Beowulf  slays 
two  hateful  man-devouring  monsters  whose  home  is  in 
the  bottom  of  a  lonely  lake ;  in  the  second  part  the 
same  hero,  now  an  aged  king,  slays  the  dragon  of  the 
sea,  but  is  himself  wounded  to  death  in  the  combat. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  story  in  its  earliest 
form  belongs  to  very  remote  pagan  times,  and  it  possibly 
symbolises  the  endless  conflict  between  man  and  the 
cruel  devouring  sea.  But  as  we  now  have  it  the  poem 
is  distinctly  the  work  of  a  Christian  poet  of  perhaps  the 
eighth  or  ninth  or  even  tenth  century,  and  he  appears 
to  symbolise  Christ  gaming  salvation  for  man  by  His 
own  death,  and  by  His  descending  into  hell  to  slay  the 
powers  of  evil  there. 

Early  in  the  poem  we  are  told  that  a  king  (Hroftgar) 
has  built  a  beautiful  palace  (Heorot) ,  where  daily  they 
feasted  and  rejoiced. 

Daer  wses  hearpan  sweg,  There  was  the  sound  of  the  harp, 

Swutol  sang  scopes.  the  sweet  song  of  the  poet. 

But  this  joy  was  hateful  to  a  hellish  fiend  named 
Grendel.  In  the  night  he  came  stealing  to  Heorot,  sur- 
prised the  sleepers  and  devoured  thirty  of  them,  and 
this  nightly  ravage  was  repeated  till  no  man  dared  to 
sleep  in  Heorot.  Then  young  Beowulf  with  fourteen 


12        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

companions  came  from  over  the  sea  to  fight  with  the 
monster.  They  were  welcomed  and  feasted,  and  at 
night  they  were  left  to  sleep  in  the  hall. 

pa  com  of  more,  Then  came  over  the  moor, 

Under  mist-hleoSum,  Under  the  hills  of  mist, 

Grendel  gongan,  Grendel  striding, 

Godes  yrre  beer.  God's  wrath  he  bore. 

He  burst  in  the  palace  door  and  with  flashing  eyes 
strode  over  the  bright  pavement,  seized  one  of  the 
sleepers  and  suddenly  slew  him. 

Bat  ban-locan,  He  bit  through  the  body, 

Blod  edrum  dranc,  Drank  the  blood  in  streams, 

Syn-snaedum  swealh  :  Piece  by  piece  he  swallowed  it : 

Sona  hsefde  Soon  he  had 

Unlyfigendes  The  lifeless  body 

Eal  gefeormod,  All  consumed, 

Fet  and  folma.  Feet  and  hands. 

But  the  monster  found  himself  speedily  seized  by  a 
mighty  a.rm  and  dashed  to  the  ground.  Fear  seized 
him,  for  never  had  he  felt  such  a  grip,  and  gladly  would 
he  have  fled.  Long  the  wrestle  lasted,  tables  and 
benches  were  wrecked,  the  night  rang  with  the  howls 
of  the  fiend.  At  last  Beowulf  tore  off  one  of  Grendel's 
arms  and  he  fled  home  to  die. 

Great  was  the  rejoicing  and  feasting  the  next  day ; 
bards  sang  songs  of  ancient  battles,  and  gifts  of  the 
choicest  kind  were  given  to  Beowulf.  The  queen  Wealh- 

speaks  thus  to  him  :— 

4  Bruc  Hsses  beages,  *  Take  this  ring, 

Beowulf,  leofa  Beowulf,  dear  youth, 

Hyse,  mid  haele,  With  good  fortune, 

And  >isses  hragles  neot.  And  this  mantel  wear. 

*  All  men  shall  speak  in  praise  of  thee, 


'BEOWULF*  13 

'  Efne  swa  side,  '  Even  as  widely 

Swa  Bse  bebugeft  As  the  sea  encircles 

Windige  weallas.'  The  wind-beaten  cliffs.' 

After  the  feast  is  over,  they  slept  as  of  old  in  the 
hall,  but  Grendel's  mother,  a  foul  and  terrible  crea- 
ture, came  to  revenge  her  son,  and  she  slaughtered  one  of 
the  king's  dearest  friends.  Beowulf  determines  to  seek 
and  to  slay  the  hag,  even  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool 
where  she  lives.  The  king  equips  him  with  arms,  and 
with  many  warriors  bears  him  company  to  the  desolate 
lake.  Alone  the  hero  dives  into  the  water,  and  in  a 
gloomy  cave  at  the  bottom  he  finds  the  hag.  He  fighta 
with  her,  and  for  a  long  time  the  issue  is  doubtful,  but 
at  last  he  seizes  a  magic  sword  which  hangs  in  the  cave, 
and  with  it  smites  off  her  head.  The  sword  drips  with 
blood,  but  gives  out  a  light  which  illumines  the  cavern. 

Lixte  se  leoma,  Gleamed  the  brightness, 

Leoht  inne  stod  A  light  stood  within  it 

Efne  swa  of  hefene,  Even  as  from  heaven, 

Hadre  seined  Brightly  shineth 

Kodores  candel.  The  firmament's  candle. 

Then  Beowulf  returns  swimming  to  the  surface,  and 
he  and  his  companions  march  back  in  triumph  to  the 
palace.  Once  more  there  is  feasting  and  giving  of  pre- 
sents, and  then  Beowulf  returns  to  his  native  land. 

In  the  second  part  of  the  poem  Beowulf  appears  as 
an  aged  king,  who  has  ruled  the  Goths  well  for  fifty 
years,  and  who  now  gives  his  own  life  to  save  his  people 
from  a  terrible  dragon.  His  people  mourned  for  him, 
and  reared  on  the  seacliif  a  mound  high  and  broad,  and 
to  be  seen  from  far  and  wide  by  sailors. 


14        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Swa  begnorodon  So  mourned 

Geata  leode  The  Gothic  people 

Hlafordes  hryre,  Their  lord's  fall, 

HeorS-geneatas  His  hearth  companions 

Cwaedon  \>&t  he  waere  Said  that  he  was, 

Woruld-cyning  Of  all  the  kings  of  the  world, 

Mannum  mildust,  The  mildest  of  men, 

And  mon-bwaerust  And  the  greatest 

Leodum  liflost,  And  most  friendly  to  his  people, 

And  lof-geornost.  And  the  most   desirous   of    their 

love. 


KING   ALFRED. 

DURING  the  ninth  century  Northurnbria  was  cruelly 
wasted  by  the  Danes.  As  early  as  793  they  plundered 
Lindisfarne,  the  resting-place  of  Cuthbert,  and  the  next 
year  they  burnt  the  monasteries  of  Wearmouth  and 
Jarrow,  where  Baeda  had  spent  his  quiet  happy  life,  and 
where  the  art  treasures  of  Benedict  Biscop  were  pre- 
served. Melrose  became  a  solitude  again,  and  Hild's 
Streonoshalh,  where  Caedmon  had  sung,  was  destroyed, 
and  even  its  name  perished. 

The  same  fate  fell  upon  East  Anglia,  for  the  rich 
abbeys  of  the  Fens,  Peterborough,  Croyland,  and  Ely, 
were  sacked,  and  the  pious  King  Edmund  was  slaugh- 
tered. Mercia  made  submission,  and  Wessex  only  was 
left  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  storm.  After  years  of  brave 
fighting,  Wessex  was  saved  and  a  great  part  of  Mercia, 
and  King  Alfred  laboured  earnestly  as  long  as  life  lasted 
to  heal  the  wounds  of  his  country  and  to  raise  it  from 
its  state  of  barbarism  and  ignorance. 

He  founded  monasteries  at  Winchester  and  Shaftes- 


KING  ALFRED 


bury  and  Athelney ;  he  called  from  other  lands  learned 
men  to  help  him,  the  best  he  could  get— Phlegniund 
from  Mercia,  Asser  from  Wales,  Grimbald  from  St. 
Omers,  and  John  from  Corbei,  in  Saxony.  He  himself 
translated  into  English  such  Latin  works  as  he  thought 
would  be  most  useful  to  his  people,  translating  freely, 
omitting  much,  and  adding  much  from  himself  in  the 
way  of  comment  and  reflection  and  illustration. 

Translation  of  '  Pastoral  Care.'—  One  of  these  works 
was  the  '  Pastoral  Care '  of  the  Pope  Gregory  who  sent 
missionaries  to  Britain.  To  the  translation  Alfred  pre- 
fixed a  preface  which  is  extremely  interesting.  A  copy 
was  sent  to  each  bishop,  and  the  one  sent  to  Wserferth, 
bishop  of  Worcester,  is  preserved  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 
In  it  the  king  speaks  thus  :— 

Alfred,  king,  biddeth  greet 
Waerferth,  bishop,  with  his  words 
in  loving  and  friendly  wise  ;  and  I 
would  have  you  know  that  it  has 
come  very  often  into  my  mind, 
what  wise  men  formerly  there 
were  among  the  English  race,  both 
of  the  sacred  orders  and  of  the 
secular,  and  how  happy  times 
those  were  throughout  the  English 
race  ;  and  how  people  from  abroad 
for  wisdom  and  learning  sought 
hither  to  this  land,  and  how  we 
now  should  have  to  get  them 
abroad,  if  we  would  have  them. 

So  clean  was  it  fallen  away  in 
the  English  race  that  there  were 
very  few  on  this  side  Humber  who 
would  know  how  to  render  their 
services  into  English  ;  and  I  ween 
that  not  many  would  be  on  the 


kyning  hateS  gretan 
Wserferft  biscep  his  wordum  luf- 
lice  gnd  freondlice  ;  gnd  $6  cyftan 
hate  'Saet  me  09111  swifte  oft  911 
gemynd,  hwelce  wiotan  iu  waeron 
giond  Angelcynn,  segfter  ge  god- 
cundra  hada  ge  woruldeundra,  9nd 
hii  gesseliglica  tida  fta  wasron 
giond  Angelcynn ;  gnd  hu  man 
litan  bordes  wisdom  gnd  lare  hieder 
gn  lond  sohte,  gnd  hii  w6  hie  mi 
sceoldan  lite  begietan,  gif  w6  hie 
habban  sceoldan. 


Swse  clsene  hio  wses  o'Sfeallenu 
Angelcynne  ftaette  swiSe  feavva 
behionan  Humbre  ISe  hiora 
"Seninga  cii^en  understgndan  gn 
Englisc ;  gnd  ic  wene  "Sffitte  noht 
mgnige  begiondan  Humbre  nseren. 


16        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


Swae  feawa  hiora  waeron  fleet  ic 
furSum  anne  an!6pne  ne  meeg 
gefl^ncean  be  siiflan  T^mese,  fla  fla 
ic  to  rice  feng.  Gode  aelmihtigum 
sie  flonc  fleet  we  nu  eenigne  ^n 
stal  habbafl  lareowa. 


other  side  of  Humber.  So  few  of 
them  were  there  that  I  not  even  a 
single  one  can  think  of  south  of 
Thames  when  I  took  to  the  realm. 
God  almighty  be  thanked  that  we 
now  have  in  office  any  teachers. 


Translation  of  Orosius. — Another  work  chosen  for 
translation  by  Alfred  was  the  '  Chronicles '  of  Orosius. 
Orosius  was  a  Spanish  monk,  a  friend  of  St.  Augustine, 
and  his  work  in  those  early  ages  had  great  repute  as  a 
compendium  of  universal  history  and  geography.  Alfred, 
as  was  his  wont,  added  valuable  matter  of  his  own,  and 
among  these  additions  is  an  account  of  the  land  of  the 
Northmen  given  to  the  king  by  Other e  and  Wulfstan, 
two  strangers  from  those  regions  whom  Alfred  gladly 
entertained  at  his  court. 


Othere  s£de  his  hlaforde 
2Elfr6de  cyninge,  fleet  he  ealra 
Norflm9nna  norflmest  biide.  H6 
cwaefl  fleet  h6  biide  9n  flaem  lande 
norflweardum  wifl  fla  Westsee. 
He  ssede  fleah  fleet  fleet  land  sie 
swifle  lang  norfl  fl9nan ;  ac  hit  is 
call  w6ste,  buton  9n  feawum 
stowum  wiciafl  Finnas,  9n  hun- 
tofle  9n  wintra,  9nd  9n  sumera  9n 
fiscafle  be  fl&re  s&. 

He  waes  swifle  sp6dig  mann  9n 
flsem  eehtum  fle  hiora  speda  9n 
b6ofl,  fleet  is,  9n  wildrum.  H6 
heefde  flagit,  fla  he  fl9ne  cyning 
s6hte,  tamra  deora  six  hund.  Da 
de6r  hie  hatafl  *  hranas ' ;  flara 
wseron  six  stselhranas,  fla  beofl 
swifle  dyre  mid  Finnum  for  flsem 
hie  ofl  fla  wildan  hranas  mid. 


Othere  said  to  his  lord  king 
Alfred  that  he  of  all  the  Northmen 
abode  northmost.  He  said  that 
he  dwelt  in  the  land  to  the  north- 
ward along  the  West  Sea.  He  said, 
however,  that  that  land  is  very 
long  north  from  thence,  but  it  is 
all  waste,  except  that  in  a  few 
places  Finns  dwell  for  hunting  in 
winter,  and  in  summer  for  fishing 
in  that  sea. 

He  was  a  very  wealthy  man  in 
those  possessions  in  which  their 
wealth  consists,  that  is  in  wild 
deer.  He  had  at  the  time  that  he 
came  to  the  king,  of  tame  deer,  six 
hundred.  These  deer  they  call 
reindeer,  of  which  there  were  six 
decoy  reindeer,  which  are  very 
valuable  among  the  Finns,  for 
with  them  they  catch  the  reindeer. 


THE  SAXON  CHRONICLES  17 

THE  SAXON   CHRONICLES. 

ANOTHER  work  of  King  Alfred  was  the  translation  of 
Bseda's  noble  history,  and  it  is  possible  that  to  this  we 
owe  the  most  precious  remnant  of  Saxon  literature — the 
Chronicles.  There  are  seven  of  these  Chronicles  now 
existing ;  they  are  designated  by  the  letters  A,  B,  C,  D, 
E,  F,  G,  and  the  one  marked  A  is  probably  the  parent 
of  all  the  rest.  At  the  time  of  the  Eeformation  it  was 
in  the  library  of  Christ  Church  monastery  at  Canterbury; 
Archbishop  Parker  gained  possession  of  it  and  bequeathed 
it  to  Benet  (now  Corpus  Christi)  College  in  Cambridge, 
and  there  it  now  is.  Internal  evidence  connects  it  with 
Winchester  rather  than  Canterbury,  and  it  is  often  cited 
as  the  Winchester  Chronicle.  It  is  the  work  of  several 
scribes,  and  the  first  handwriting  ceases  at  891,  the  year 
in  which  Phlegmund  became  archbishop,  and  it  is  ex- 
tremely probable  that  so  far  at  least  it  is  the  work  of 
King  Alfred's  reign. 

The  Chronicle  begins  with  the  year  60  B.C.,  and  from 
thence  to  A.D.  449  it  is  compiled  from  various  Latin 
authors,  and  chiefly  from  Baeda.  From  449  to  731 
(where  Bseda  ceases)  there  are  many  such  entries, 
mingled,  however,  with  gleanings  from  the  half-lost 
history  of  Wessex  and  Kent,  gained  from  songs,  runic 
stones,  and  rolls  of  kings.  Of  such  a  kind  is  the  entry 
for  the  year  473  : — 

Her  Hengest  and^Esc  gefuhton  Here   (at    this    time)   Hengist 

wi$  Walas,  and  genamon  unari-  and  Aesc  fought  with  the  Welsh 
medlico  here  reaf,  and  'Sa  Walas  (Britons),  and  took  innumerable 
flugon  $a  Englan  swa  fyr.  spoil,  and  the  Welsh  fled  from  the 

English  like  fire. 

C 


i8        HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  period  of  thirty  years  ending  with  855  bears 
marks  of  contemporary  freshness.  It  records  among 
other  things  Alfred's  visit  to  Kome  with  his  father,  and 
it  may,  perhaps,  be  the  work  of  the  saintly  Swithun, 
bishop  of  Winchester,  who  also  went  with  the  king  to 
Kome.  The  period  closes  with  the  death  of  Ethelwulf, 
and  with  a  great  genealogy  of  the  Wessex  kings,  ascend- 
ing up  to  Wodin,  thence  to  '  Hrathra,  who  was  born  in 
the  ark/  thence  to  '  Adam  primus  homo  et  pater  noster, 
id  est  Christus.  Amen/ 

The  period  from  894  to  897  is  described  as  '  the  most 
remarkable  piece  of  writing  in  the  whole  series  of 
Chronicles.  It  is  a  warm,  vigorous,  earnest  narrative, 
free  from  the  rigidity  of  the  other  annals,  full  of  life 
and  originality.  It  reads  more  like  a  narrative  of  our 
own  time  than  Alfred's.'  l 

The  following  is  part  of  the  entry  for  896  :— 

On  'Sy  ylcan  gere  worhte  se  fore  In  the  same  year  wrought  the 

sprecene   here  geweorc  be  Lygan  before-mentioned   army  a  fort  by 

xx  mila  bufan  Lunden  byrig.     Da  the  Lea  twenty  miles  above  London 

"Sses  on    sumera  foron  micel  daal  town.     Then  in  the  summer  went 

•Sara  burgwara,  and  eac  swa  oSres  forth  a  great  part  of  the  townsmen, 

folces.     Daet  hie  gedydon  set  flara  and  also  of  other  folk.     Thus  they 

Deniscana  geweorc,  and  t>aer  wur-  did  to  the  Danish  fort,  and  there 

don  gefliemde,  and   sume   feower  they  were  put  to  flight,  and  some 

cyninges   "Segnas   ofslaegene.      Da  four    king's    thanes    were    slain. 

"Sees    on    haerfaeste   iSa    wicode    se  Theu  after    this,  in  harvest,  the 

cyng  on   neaweste  Sare  byrig,  $a  king  encamped  in  the  neighbour- 

hwile   fte   hie  hira  corn  gerypon,  hood  of  the  town  the  while  they 

tSaat  $a  Deniscan  him  ne  mehton  reaped  their  corn,  that  the  Danes 

Caes  ripes  forwiernan.  might  not  prevent  them  from  the 

reaping. 

Down  to  the  year  924  the  narrative  is  of  the  same 

1  Earle. 


THE  SAXON  CHRONICLES  19 

character  but  more  subdued,  but  the  record  from  925  to 
975  is  extremely  meagre.  The  years  937,  942,  973, 
975  have  no  prose  entry,  but  a  poetical  piece  is  inserted 
in  each  of  these  years,  and  the  first  is  the  noble  ode  on 
the  Battle  of  Brunanburg,  which  begins  thus  : — 

Her  JESelstan  cyning  Here  ^Ethelstan  the  king 

eorla  dryhten  of  earls  the  lord 

and  his  broftor  eac  and  his  brother  also 

Eadmund  sefteling  Eadmund  the  prince 

geslogon  set  ssecce  fought  in  battle 

sweorda  ecgum  with  edge  of  swords 

ymbe  Brunanburh.  near  Brunanburg. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  1001  the  handwriting  again 
changes,  and  from  thence  to  the  close  of  the  Chronicle 
in  1079  there  are  only  eleven  scattered  entries,  consisting 
of  matters  interesting  to  Canterbury  rather  than  to 
Winchester.  It  has  therefore  been  thought  that  the 
Winchester  Chronicle  ceased  in  1001,  and  that  when 
Lanfranc  became  archbishop  in  1079  it  was  brought  to 
Canterbury  and  that  the  few  additional  entries  were 
made  there. 

The  Chronicles  marked  B,  C,  F,  G-  are  little  more 
than  copies  of  A,  though  each  has  some  entries  peculiar 
to  itself.  Chronicle  D,  the  Worcester  Chronicle,  is  spe- 
cially rich  in  entries  relating  to  Mercian  and  Northum- 
brian affairs  during  the  eighth  and  ninth  centuries,  and 
it  is  thought  to  owe  its  origin  to  Waerferth,  the  Bishop 
of  Worcester,  the  friend  of  King  Alfred.  In  recording 
the  events  of  Edward  the  Confessor's  reign  it  has  a 
strong  and  distinct  character  of  its  own,  and  it  is  the 
only  one  of  the  Chronicles  which  gives  an  account  of  the 
Battle  of  Hastings. 

o  2 


20        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Chronicle  E,  the  Peterborough  Chronicle,  in  some 
respects  the  most  important  of  all,  needs  to  be  spoken 
of  by  itself. 


/ELFRIC. 

AFTER  the  death  of  Alfred  the  intellectual  development 
of  Wessex  flagged.  Alfred's  son  Eadward  was  a  worthy 
successor  to  his  father  as  statesman  and  warrior,  but 
not  as  scholar  and  man  of  letters,  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  ^Ethelstan  and  Eadmund.  Wars  with  the  Welsh, 
with  the  Scots,  with  the  Danes  (both  those  within  the 
realm  and  those  from  over  the  sea),  gave  but  few  and 
short  periods  of  rest.  The  monasteries,  which  were 
the  only  homes  of  literature,  lay  many  of  them  in  ruins 
or  tenantless,  and  the  rules  of  monastic  life  were  greatly 
relaxed. 

A  great  revival,  both  religious  and  intellectual,  was 
effected  by  the  famous  Dunstan  and  his  disciples  and 
followers.  This  great  man  was  made  abbot  of  Glaston- 
bury  by  Eadmund,  and  the  abbey  school  became  one  of 
his  chief  cares.  He  taught  the  pupils  himself  and  gained 
their  love,  and  in  later  ages  school  boys  prayed  at  his 
shrine  to  their  '  dear  father  Dunstan.' 

In  955  ^Ethelwold,  Dunstan's  chief  scholar  and 
assistant,  was  made  abbot  of  the  ruined  abbey  of  Abing- 
don,  and  he  built  there  a  splendid  minster  and  founded 
a  school  which  soon  became  more  famous  than  its 
parent  Glastonbury.  A  few  years  later  ^Ethelwold  was 
made  bishop  of  Winchester  and  greatly  improved  the 
old  monastic  school,  and  from  these  two  schools  of 


&LFRIC  21 

Abingdon  and  Winchester  came  forth  JElfric,  whose  is 
the  greatest  literary  name  of  this  tenth  century. 
Neither  the  date  of  ^Elfric's  birth  nor  that  of  his  death 
is  known,  but  from  990  to  about  1014  his  life  was  one 
of  ceaseless  literary  activity.  The  ealdorman  ^Ethel- 
weard,  the  son-in-law  of  the  heroic  Brythnoth,  who  fell 
at  Maldon,  was  ^Elfric's  constant  friend  and  patron, 
and  established  him  first  as  head  of  a  minster  at  Cernel 
(Cerne  Abbas  in  Dorset)  and  later  as  abbot  of  Eynsham 
in  Oxfordshire.  .ZEthelweard's  son  ^thelmaer  became 
a  still  closer  friend,  and  spent  many  years  of  his  life 
with  Mlfrie  at  Eynsham. 

In  Cerne  Abbas  he  wrote  two  series  of  homilies, 
eighty  in  all,  and  they  were  published  in  990  and  991. 
In  the  preface  he  speaks  modestly  of  himself. 

Ic  2Elfric  munuc  and  msesse-  I,    2Elfric,    monk    and    mass- 

preost     swafteah     waccre     ftonne  priest,  although  more  weakly  than 

swilcum    hadum  gebyrige,   wear$  for  such  orders  is  fitting,  was  sent 

asend   on    -^Eftelredes    deege   cyn-  in    King    ^Ethelred's    days    to    a 

inges   to    sumum    mynstre   £e   is  certain    minster  which   is   called 

Cernel  gehaten,  fturh  ./Ethelmffires  Cernel,  at  the  request  of  2Ethel- 

bene  flaes  ftegenes,  his  gebyrd  and  masr,  the  thegn,  whose  birth  and 

goodnys  sind  gehwaer  cufte.     Da  goodness   are  everywhere  known, 

beam  me  on  mode,  ic  truwige  "Surh  Then  it  occurred  to  my  mind,  I 

Godes    gife   ftaet   ic    ~5as    boc    of  trust  through  God's  grace,  that  I 

Ledenum    gereorde    to    Engliscre  would  turn  this  book  from  Latin 

spraece  awende.  speech  into  English. 

The  English  of  these  homilies  is  splendid;  hearers 
and  readers  alike  were  charmed,  and  ^Elfric's  friends 
begged  him  to  write  a  series  on  the  lives  of  the  English 
saints.  This  third  series  of  homilies  was  published  in  996, 
and  they  are  written  in  a  rhythmical  alliterative  prose 
which  is  also  freely  used  in  most  of  JSlfric's  later  writings. 


22        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  Life  of  St. 
Edmund,  king  and  martyr.  After  telling  how  the 
heathen  Danes  slaughtered  the  pious  king,  and  carried 
off  his  head  and  hid  it  in  the  wood,  ^Elfric  proceeds : — 


Da  ®fter  fyrste,  syflflan  hie 
afarene  waeron,  com  flaet  land-folc 
to  fleer  heora  hlafordes  lie  laeg 
butan  heafde,  and  wurdon  swifle 
sarige  for  his  siege  on  mode,  and 
huru  daet  hie  nasfden  fleet  heafod 
to  '5am  bodige. 

Hie  eodon  fla  endemes  ealle  to 
'Sam  wudu  secende  gehwaer,  geond 
flyflas  and  bremlas,  gif  hie  ahwaer 
mihten  gemetan  flaet  heafod. 

Waes  eac  micel  wundor  flaet  an 
wulf  wearth  asend  flurh  Godes 
wissunge  to  bewerienne  flaet  heafod 
wifl  fla  oSru  deor  ofer  daeg  and  niht. 

Hie  eodon  fla  secende  and  simle 
clipiende,  swa  swa  hit  gewunelic  is 
flam  fle  on  wuda  gafl  oft,  '  Hwaer 
eart  flu  nu,  gefera  ?  '  And  him  and- 
wyrde  flat  heafod,  '  Her,  her,  her,' 
ofl  flaat  hie  ealle  becomon  flurh  fla 
clipunge  him  to.  Da  laeg  se  graega 
wulf  fle  bewiste  flat  heafod,  and 
mid  his  twam  fotum  haefde  flaet 
heafod  beclypped,  graedig  and  hun- 
grig,  and  for  Gode  ne  dorste  flaes 
heafdes  onbyrgan  ac  heold  hit  wifl 
deor. 


Then  after  a  time,  after  they 
were  gone,  came  the  land-folk  to 
where  their  lord's  body  lay  without 
the  head,  and  were  very  sorry  for 
his  slaying  in  their  hearts,  and 
moreover  that  they  had  not  the 
head  to  the  body. 

They  went  then  at  last  all  to  the 
wood,  seeking  everywhere  through 
shrubs  and  brambles  if  they  any- 
where might  meet  the  head. 

There  was  also  a  great  wonder, 
that  a  wolf  was  sent  through  God's 
direction  toguai'd  the  head  against 
other  creatures  by  day  and  night. 

They  went  then,  seeking  and 
calling  often,  as  it  is  customary  for 
those  who  go  through  the  woods, 
'  Where  art  thou  now,  comrade  ?  ' 
And  the  head  answered  them, 
'Here,  here,  here,'  till  they  all  came, 
through  the  calling,  to  it.  There 
lay  the  grey  wolf  which  guarded 
the  head,  and  with  his  two  feet 
had  the  head  clasped,  greedy  and 
hungry,  and  through  God  he  durst 
not  taste  the  head,  but  held  it  from 
the  wild  animals. 


^Elfric  was  next  urged  by  his  friends  to  undertake  a 
translation  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  he  rendered  into 
vigorous  free-flowing  English  the  greater  part  of  the 
Pentateuch  and  parts  of  Joshua  and  Judges.  He  also 
wrote  the  most  important  educational  works  of  that 


THE  LATEST   SAXON  CHRONICLE  23 

period,  a  Latin  Grammar,  a  Latin  Glossary,  and  other 
books  to  help  the  English  scholar.  His  fame  as  a  writer 
was  now  great,  and  Wulfsige,  bishop  of  Sherborne,  com- 
missioned him  to  write  a  pastoral  letter  to  the  clergy  of 
his  diocese.  A  similar  work  was  .undertaken  some  years 
later  for  Wulfstan,  Archbishop  of  York. 


THE   LATEST  SAXON   CHRONICLE. 

The  Peterborough  Chronicle  (E)  is  the  latest,  and 
in  some  respects  the  most  important  and  interesting,  of 
the  whole  series.  In  1116  a  great  fire  entirely  destroyed 
the  minster  and  a  great  part  of  the  town  of  Peterborough, 
and  this  probably  occasioned  the  writing  of  a  new 
chronicle,  for  in  the  manuscript  the  same  handwriting 
is  continued  to  the  end  of  the  year  1121. 

Down  to  the  year  892  the  scribe  has  copied  the 
Winchester  Chronicle,  but  he  interpolates  from  time  to 
time  entries  relating  to  the  foundation,  endowments  and 
privileges  of  Peterborough  Abbey.  Many  of  these  entries 
are  manifest  and  extravagant  fictions,  and  the  character 
of  the  language  betrays  them  as  the  work  of  the  twelfth 
century.  From  893  to  991  the  record  is  very  meagre, 
and  the  history  of  Alfred's  and  E  ad  ward's  victories, 
which  is  so  finely  given  in  the  Winchester  Chronicle,  is 
ignored.  From  992  to  1082  the  scribe  copies  sometimes 
from  one  Chronicle  and  sometimes  from  another,  and 
then  there  begins  a  period  (1083  to  1090)  of  surpassing 
interest.  '  The  language  is  pathetic,  sometimes  even 
passionate.'  '  The  writer  was  certainly  an  old  man,'  and 
some  have  thought  him  to  be  Wulfstan,  the  saintly 


24        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


Bishop  of  Worcester.  From  the  entry  of  the  year  1087 
we  find  that  the  writer  knew  the  Conqueror  well.  He 
says  :— 

Gif  hwa  gevvilnigeS  to  gewitane 
hu  gedon  maim  he  wses,  otfSe 
hwilcne  wurSscipe  he  haefde,  o'Stte 
hu  fela  lande  he  waere  hlaford, 
Sonne  wiJle  we  be  him  awriten 
Bwa  swa  we  hine  ageaton,  'Se  him 
pn  locodan,  and  oftre  hwile  on  his 
hirede  wunedon.  Se  cyng  Willelm 
"Se  we  embe  specaft  wass  swiSe  vis 
man  and  swiSe  rice,  and  wurSfulre 
and  strengere  'Sonne  aenig  his 
foregengra  waere.  He  was  milde 
'Sam  godum  mannum  'Se  God  lufe- 
don,  and  ofer  call  gemett  stearc 
tham  mannum  'Se  wiScwtedon  his 
willan. 

He  sastte  mycel  deor  friS  and  he 
Ifflgde  laga  'SasrwiS  Saet  swa  hwa 
swa  sloge  heort  oSSe  hinde  'Sat 
hine  man  sceolde  blendian.  Swa 
swiSe  he  lufode  Sa  hea  deor  swilce 
he  waere  heora  faeder. 

Wala  wa  'Sat  senig  man  sceolde 
modigan  swa,  hine  sylf  uppahebban 
and  ofer  ealle  men  tellan.  Se 
aelmihtiga  God  cySae  his  saule 
mildheortnisse  and  do  him  his 
synna  forgifenesse. 

The  period  from  1091  to  1121  seems  to  be  the  work 
of  a  different  author,  but  still  to  belong  to  Worcester 
rather  than  to  Peterborough.  From  1122  to  the  close, 
in  1154,  the  entries  give  abundant  evidence  that  the 
Chronicle  was  the  work  of  Peterborough.  One  of  the 
latest  entries  (1137)  gives  a  terrible  picture  of  the 
miseries  of  Stephen's  reign. 


If  any  would  know  what  man- 
ner of  man  he  was,  or  what  glory 
he  had,  or  of  how  many  lands  he 
was  lord,  then  will  we  write  of  him 
as  we  have  known  him;  we  who 
have  looked  on  him,  and  once 
dwelt  in  his  court.  This  King 
William  whom  we  speak  of  was  a 
man  very  wise,  and  very  great,  and 
more  honoured  and  more  powerful 
than  any  of  his  forerunners  were. 
He  was  mild  to  those  good  men 
who  loved  God,  and  beyond  all 
measure  severe  to  those  men  who 
withstood  his  will. 

He  set  great  forests  for  the 
deer,  and  he  made  laws  therewith 
that  whosoever  should  slay  hart  or 
hind,  him  they  should  blind.  So 
greatly  loved  he  the  tall  deer  as  if 
he  were  their  father. 

Alas  !  that  any  man  should  so 
proudly  uplift  himself,  and  above 
all  men  esteem  himself.  The 
almighty  God  show  mercy  to  his 
soul,  and  give  him  forgiveness  of 
his  sins. 


REMAINS  OF  SAXON  LITERATURE 


Da  WEBS  corn  daere  and  flesc 
and  caese  and  butere  for  nan  ne 
wass  o  fte  land.  Wrecce  men 
sturven  of  hungaer,  sume  ieden  on 
selmes  $e  waren  sum  wile  rice  men, 
sume  flugen  ut  of  lande.  Wass 
naavre  gast  mare  wreccehed  on 
land,  ne  nsevre  hethen  men  werse 
ne  diden  "San  hi  diden.  Gif  twa 
men  ofter  iii  coman  ridend  to  an 
tun,  al  '5e  tunscipe  flugeen  for  heom 
wenden  ftast  hi  waaron  raeveres. 
De  biscopes  and  lered  men  heom 
cursede  aevre,  oc  was  heom  naht 
ftar  of,  for  hi  weron  al  forcursasd 
and  forsuoren  and  forloren.  De 
erthe  ne  bar  nan  corn,  for  $e  land 
was  al  fordon  mid  suilce  daades, 
and  hi  saaden  openlice  iSaat  Xrist 
slep  and  his  halechen.  Suilc  and 
mare  ftanne  we  cunnen  saien  we 
'Solenden  xix  wintre  for  ure 
sinnes. 


Then  was  corn  dear,  and  flesh, 
and  cheese,  and  butter,  for  there 
was  none  in  the  land.  Wretched 
men  starved  with  hunger ;  some 
went  begging  who  were  once  rich 
men;  some  fled  out  of  the  land. 
There  was  never  yet  more  wretched- 
ness in  the  land,  nor  ever  did 
heathen  men  do  worse  than  these. 
If  two  or  three  men  came  riding  to 
a  town,  all  the  township  fled  before 
them ;  they  thought  they  were  rob- 
bers. The  bishops  and  learned 
men  evermore  cursed  them;  but 
this  was  nothing,  for  they  were  all 
accursed,  and  forsworn,  and  repro- 
bate. The  earth  bore  no  corn,  for 
the  land  was  all  ruined  with  such 
deeds,  and  men  said  openly  that 
Christ  slept  and  his  holy  ones. 
Such  things  and  more  than  we  can 
say  we  suffered  nineteen  winters 
for  our  sins. 


REMAINS  OF  SAXON    LITERATURE. 

LIKE  the  Hebrew  writings,  the  greater  part  of  the  Saxon 
literature  is  anonymous.  Of  all  the  writers  in  the  Saxon 
Chronicles,  not  one  can  be  identified  with  certainty. 
'  Beowulf '  is  the  work  of  an  unknown  author,  and  it  has 
been  doubted  if  Caedmon  is  really  the  name  of  a  man 
and  not  rather  a  name  suggestive  of  the  Scriptural  char- 
acter of  his  work.  Poems  were  written  by  a  Cynewulf, 
but  who  he  was  and  when  he  lived  is  quite  uncertain. 
Hence  there  is  often  great  doubt  as  to  the  exact  date  to 
be  assigned  to  any  work,  and  the  difficulty  is  increased 


26        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

by  the  fact  that  Northumbrian  literature  perished  with 
the  inroads  of  the  Danes,  and  Northumbrian  works  are 
preserved  only  in  a  later  and  West- Saxon  form. 

About  1050  Leofric,  bishop  of  Exeter,  gave  to  the 
cathedral  library  a  gift  of  books,  and  among  them 
*  1  mycel  Englisc  boc  be  gehwylcum  iSingum  on  Ieo3- 
wisan  geworht,'  that  is,  '  One  large  English  book  about 
various  things  in  lay  [song]  wise  wrought.'  This  is  the 
famous  '  Codex  Exoniensis  '  still  preserved  at  Exeter, 
and  so  often  referred  to.  The  manuscript  is  in  ten 
books,  and  it  contains  many  poems,  most  of  them  of  a 
religious  character,  such  as  rA  Dialogue  between  the 
Virgin  Mary  and  Joseph,'  '  Song  of  the  Three  Children,' 
'  The  Last  Judgment.'  Perhaps  the  most  interesting 
are  'The  Traveller's  Song'  and  'The  Phoenix.'  The 
former  is  not  much  more  than  a  catalogue  of  tribes  and 
places,  but  it  is  believed  to  be  a  work  of  the  fifth  century, 
and,  if  so,  is  the  most  ancient  relic  of  the  kind  that  we 
possess ;  the  latter  is  a  poem  of  much  beauty,  and  is 
thought  to  be  the  work  of  Cynewulf. 

In  1832  Dr.  Blume  discovered  at  Vercelli  a  book 
filled  mainly  with  Saxon  homilies,  but  also  containing 
a  small  number  of  religious  poems  of  great  beauty. 
The  chief  of  these  are  '  A  Legend  of  St.  Andrew,'  '  A 
Dream  of  the  Holy  Kood,'  and  '  Elene,  or  the  Invention 
of  the  Holy  Cross,'  and  they  are  for  the  most  part,  if 
not  all,  the  work  of  Cynewulf. 

Archbishop  Parker  in  Elizabeth's  time  was  a  great 
collector  of  Saxon  books,  and  he  gave  to  Corpus  Christi 
College,  in  Cambridge,  the  celebrated  '  Winchester 
Chronicle,'  and  a  fine  copy  of  King  Alfred's  laws. 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  NORMAN  CONQUEST     27 

Sir  Eobert  Cotton  was  a  still  greater  collector,  and 
to  him  we  owe  all  the  Saxon  Chronicles  save  two,  '  Beo- 
wulf,' a  fragment  of  a  noble  poem  on  the  story  of  Judith, 
part  of  the  works  of  ^Elfric,  the  Lindisfarne  Gospels  of 
the  ninth,  and  a  Psalter  of  the  tenth  century. 

To  Archbishop  Laud  we  owe  the  famous  'Peter- 
borough Chronicle/  and  some  of  the  works  of  JElfric. 

To  Christopher  Lord  Hatton  (time  of  Charles  II.)  we 
owe  Alfred's  translation  of  the  '  Pastoral  Care,'  and  the 
translation  of  '  Gregory's  Dialogues  '  with  Alfred's  pre- 
face. 

To  Franciscus  Junius,  a  celebrated  scholar  of  Charles 
II. 's  time,  we  owe  the  Caedmon,  and  a  Psalter  of  the 
tenth  century. 

In  1851  there  was  brought  to  light  a  book  of  Saxon 
homilies  of  a  generation  earlier  than  ^Elfric  from  the 
library  of  Blickling  Hall,  in  Norfolk. 

In  1860  a  valuable  fragment  of  an  epic  poem  on 
King  Waldhere  was  discovered  at  Copenhagen  on  some 
scraps  of  vellum  taken  from  book-backs. 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE   NORMAN   CONQUEST. 

IN  the  eleventh  century  English  literature  languished.     / 
The  '  Winchester  Chronicle '  has  for  this  period  but  a  ^ 
few  meagre  entries  ;  ^Elfric  was  gone  and  no  one  had 
arisen  to   compare  with  him  in  learning  or  eloquence, 
and    Cynewulf's    poems  and    the   great   songs    of   the 
*  Chronicle  '  belonged  to  an  age  that  had  passed  away. 
The  exhausting  struggle  with  the  Danes  in  the  early 


28        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

years  of  the  century,  and  in  later  years  the  growing  in- 
tercourse with  Normandy  were  doubtless  the  chief  causes 
of  this  stagnation.  Edward  the  Confessor's  tastes  and 
sympathies  were  French,  as  was  natural  for  one  whose 
youth  was  spent  in  Normandy  in  the  closest  friendship 
and  relationship  with  its  rulers,  and  as  far  as  might  be  he 
surrounded  himself  with  Norman  councillors,  both  in 
Church  and  State.  Then  came  the  great  shock  of  the 
Norman  Conquest,  and  within  a  short  time  scarcely  an 
Englishman  was  left  as  bishop  or  abbot  or  great  noble, 
and  the  native  literature  had  no  longer  any  recognition 
in  the  king's  court  or  in  those  of  his  great  barons. 

The  language  could  not  die  while  the  .bulk  of  the 
people  remained  the  same,  but  it  underwent  a  great 
change.  Old  English  was  a  highly  inflected  language, 
and  its  system  of  case-endings  was  especially  elaborate. 
These  inflections  were  gradually  falling  away  under  the 
influence  of  natural  laws,  and  we  can  see  that  the  lan- 
guage of  ^Elfric  is  simpler  and  more  modern  than  that 
of  Alfred. 

But  now  this  slow  and  natural  change  was  enor- 
mously quickened,  and  '  all  these  sounding  terminations 
that  make  so  handsome  a  figure  in  Saxon  courts — the 
-AN,  the  -UM,  the  -EKA  and  -ENA,  the  -IGENNE  and 
-IGENDUM — all  these,  superfluous  as  bells  on  idle 
horses,  were  laid  aside  when  the  nation  had  lost  its  old 
political  life  and  its  pride  of  nationality,  and  had  received 
leaders  and  teachers  who  spoke  a  foreign  tongue.' l 

From  this  time  three  languages  existed  side  by  side 
within  the  kingdom — Latin,  the  language  of  the  clergy 

1  Earle. 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  NORMAN  CONQUEST     29 

and  the  learned ;  French,  that  of  polite  intercourse ;  and 
English,  that  of  the  mass  of  the  people.  The  famous 
Abbot  Samson,  of  St.  Edmundsbury  (Carlyle's  '  Past  and 
Present'),  could  preach  in  three  languages,  and,  sturdy 
Englishman  as  he  was,  he  preferred  a  certain  man  to  be 
one  of  his  chief  tenants  because  he  could  speak  no  French. 

During  the  reigns  of  the  first  six  or  eight  kings  after 
the  Conquest,  Latin  was  the  language  used  in  nearly  all 
public  documents,  and  it  was  probably  chosen  as  being 
the  common  language  of  Western  Christendom,  while 
French  would  have  been  the  badge  of  conquest.  Then, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  onward, 
for  about  eighty  or  ninety  years  French  took  the  place 
of  Latin,  till  at  last  it  also  yielded  before  the  English, 
which  once  more  had  gained  supremacy. 

The  final  victory  of  English  was  somewhat  retarded 
by  the  vanity  of  men  and  the  usage  of  grammar  schools, 
for  we  are  told  '  Children  in  scole  beth  compelled,  agines 
the  usage  and  maner  of  alle  other  naciouns,  for  to  leve 
her1  owne  langage,  and  for  to  constrewe  her  lessouns  and 
her  thingis  a  Frensch,  and  haveth  siththe  that  the 
Normans  come  first  into  England.  Also  gentil  mennes 
children  beth  ytaught  for  to  speke  Frensch  from  the 
tyme  that  thei  beth  rokked  in  her  cradel  and  kunneth 
speke  and  playe  with  a  childes  brooche.  And  uplondish 
men  wole  likne  hemself  to  gentil  men,  and  fondeth  with 
great  bisynesse  for  to  speke  Frensch  for  to  be  the  more 
ytold  of.'  (Higden's  '  Polychronicon,'  translated  from 
Latin  into  English  by  John  of  Trevisa,  in  1385.) 

Trevisa  adds  :  '  This  maner  is  siththe  som  del  ychaun- 

1  Their. 


30        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

gide.  For  John  Cornwaile,  a  maistre  of  grammar, 
chaungide  the  lore  in  grammar  scole  and  construction 
of  Frensch  into  Englisch,  and  Eichard  Pencriche  lerned 
that  maner  teching  of  him,  and  other  men  of  Pencriche. 
So  that  now,  the  yere  of  our  lorde  a  thousand  thre 
hundred  foure  score  and  fyve,  in  all  the  grammar  scoles 
of  Englond  children  leveth  Frensch  and  construeth  and 
lerneth  an  Englisch.' 


LATIN   AND   FRENCH    LITERATURE  OF  THE 
NORMAN    PERIOD. 

IT  is  foreign  to  the  purpose  of  this  little  book  to  speak 
of  any  other  than  of  our  own  native  literature,  but  the 
Latin  and  French  works  of  the  Norman  period  were  so 
many  and  so  important  that  a  few  words  must  be  given 
to  some  of  them.  Lanfranc  and  Anselm,  who  were  in 
succession  Archbishops  of  Canterbury,  were  theologians 
of  European  fame,  and  some  of  their  chief  works  were 
written  after  they  came  to  England.  The  Norman  clergy 
who  came  over  here  were  in  general  more  highly  edu- 
cated than  the  English,  and  through  their  coming  a 
great  stimulus  was  given  to  education  and  especially  to 
the  cultivation  of  Latin  literature.  Englishmen,  no  less 
than  Frenchmen,  distinguished  themselves,  and  the  Latin 
historical  literature  of  the  twelfth  century  is  one  of 
which  any  country  might  be  proud.  The  English  monk 
Eadmer,  the  friend  and  biographer  of  Anselm,  wrote 
the  history  of  the  period  from  1066  to  1122.  Florence 
of  Worcester  gives  in  Latin  the  story  of  the  old 


LATIN  AND  FRENCH  LITERATURE.  31 

English  Chronicles,  and  Simeon  of  Durham  does  the 
same,  but  makes  use  of  many  northern  annals  which 
are  now  lost. 

William  of  Malmesbury  then  wrote  his  noble  *  His-  v 
tory  of  the  Kings  of  England,'  which  was  no  mere  collec- 
tion of  annals,  but  a  work  after  the  model  of  the  great 
histories  of  Greece  and  Kome.  He  made  use  of  many 
old  English  songs  which  are  now  lost,  and  in  this  he 
was  followed  by  Henry  of  Huntingdon. 

The  story  of  the  Conquest  was  written  in  Latin  verse 
by  Guy  of  Amiens,  and  in  Latin  prose  by  William  of  Poi- 
tiers. Ordericus  Vitalis,  another  historian  of  Norman 
parentage,  was  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Severn,  and  in 
the  retirement  of  a  Norman  monastery  he  wrote  a  his- 
tory, of  which  that  part  is  very  valuable  which  deals 
with  the  period  after  the  Conquest. 

To  the  same  period  belongs  that  wonderful  book  the 
'  History  of  the  Britons,'  written  by  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth,  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph's.  The  work  contains  hardly 
a  shred  of  historical  truth,  but  it  is  a  rich  storehouse  of 
romance  and  fable.  There  for  the  first  time  appear  in 
literature  Locrine  and  Lear,  and  Merlin  and  Uther 
Pendr  agon,  ^  and  the  great  Arthur,  and  others  whose 
story  has  charmed  so  many  generations.  The  book  be- 
came at  once  immensely  popular,  and  from  it  as  from  a 
well-head  flowed  many  later  tales  of  romance. 

Within  a  few  years  Wace,  a  native  of  Jersey,  turned  *\ 
Geoffrey's   book   from   Eatin   into    a    French   metrical 
romance,  and  presented   it   to  Eleanor,  the   queen   of 
Henry  II.     Wace  called  his  work  'Brut  d'Engleterre,' 
and  it  became  in  turn  the  foundation  of  the  English 


32        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

'Brut1   of  La3amon,  of  which  we  shall  have  soon  to 
speak. 

Towards  the  end  of  his  life  (about  1170)  Wace  wrote 
a  metrical  history  of  the  Norman  dukes,  and  called  it 
'Roman  de  Kou'  (Romance  of  Rollo).  The  history  is 
carried  down  to  the  year  1106,  and  the  description 
which  it  gives  of  the  incidents  of  the  great  battle  of 
Hastings  is  the  most  picturesque  and  vivid  and  trust- 
worthy which  we  possess. 


OLD   ENGLISH   HOMILIES. 

FROM  the  libraries  in  the  British  Museum  and  Lambeth 
Palace  and  from  the  Bodleian  a  considerable  number  of 
Old  English  homilies  have  been  gathered  and  printed  by 
the  Early  English  Text  Society.  The  authors  are  un- 
known, and  the  different  homilies  appear  to  belong  to 
various  periods  during  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
turies. Among  them  are  twelfth -century  transcripts  of 
a  few  of  ^Elfric's  homilies,  and  in  others  it  is  plainly  to 
be  seen  that  ^Elfric  has  been  taken  as  a  model.  These 
homilies,  together  with  the  later  entries  in  the  Peter- 
borough Chronicle,  are  all  that  we  now  have  left  of 
English  literature  of  the  twelfth  century.  One  of  the 
earliest  (about  1150)  is  entitled  '  An  Bispel '  (A  Parable), 
and  in  it  the  writer  or  preacher  speaks  thus  of  the  good- 
ness of  God  :— 

He  is  hure  fader,  he  lentS  us  He  is  our  father,  he  grants  us 

his  eor-Se   to  tolie,  his    corn    to  his  earth  to  till,  his  corn  to  sow. 

sawe,  his  eorSe  us  werpS  corn  and  His  earth  yields  for  us  corn  and 

westm,  niatt  anddierchin,  his  loht  fruit,   cattle    and    deer-kind,   his 

leoem   and  lif,  his  water   drench  light  (yields  us)  light  and  life,  his 


THE  <ORMULUM> 


33 


and  fiscynn,  his  fer  manifeald 
fteninge.  His  sonne,  mone,  ster- 
ren,rien,  daw,  winde,  wude,  unitald 
fultume.  Al  ftat  we  habbeft  of 
ftese  fader  we  habbeft. 

Mu3e  we  acht  clepeien  bine 
moder  wene  we?  516  mu^e  we. 
Hwat  deft  si  moder  hire  beam. 
Formes  hi  hit  chereft  and  blisseft 
be  fte  lichte,  and  sefte  hi  dieft 
under  hire  arme  ofter  his  hafed 
heleft  to  don  him  slepe  and  reste. 
Dis  deft  all  3iure  drihte,  he  blisseft 
us  mid  dei^es  licht,  he  sweveth 
us  mid  ftiestre  nicht. 


water  drink  and  fishes,  his  fire 
manifold  things.  His  sun,  moon, 
stars,  rain,  dew,  wind,  wood 
(yield)  untold  favours.  All  that 
we  have  we  have  from  this  father. 
May  we  at  all  call  him  mother 
ween  we?  Yea  may  we.  What 
doth  the  mother  to  her  bairn  ? 
First  she  cheereth  and  blesseth 
it  by  the  light,  and  afterwards  she 
putteth  under  it  her  arm,  or  covers 
its  head  to  give  it  sleep  and  rest. 
This  doth  the  Lord  of  you  all ;  he 
blesseth  us  with  the  daylight,  he 
sends  us  to  sleep  with  the  dark 
night. 


THE  'ORMULUM.' 

To  the  very  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  if  not 
even  to  the  end  of  the  twelfth,  belongs  a  remarkable 
poem  called  the  '  Ormulum.'  It  is  a  collection  of  metri- 
cal homilies  intended  to  explain  and  illustrate  the  por- 
tions of  the  Gospels  appointed  to  be  read  daily  through- 
out the  year.  It  was  once  perhaps  complete,  or  nearly 
so,  but  the  single  copy  now  existing  is  imperfect,  and 
contains  the  homilies  for  only  thirty-two  days. 

In  the  whole  poem  there  are  but  four  or  five  French 
words,  but  it  abounds  in  Scandinavian  words  and  forms. 
'It  is  the  most  thoroughly  Danish  poem  ever  written  in 
England  that  has  come  down  to  us,' l  and  the  writer 
almost  certainly  lived  in  one  of  the  eastern  counties, 
perhaps  in  the  Peterborough  region.  A  curious  piece  of 

1  Oliphant, 


34        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


evidence  seems  to  connect  him  with  Durham,  but  it  is 
shadowy  and  uncertain.  His  name  was  Orin  or  Ormin, 
for  he  tells  us : — 


Diss  hoc  iss  nemmnedd  Orrmulum 
ForrSi  ftatt  Ormm  itt  wro3te. 


This  book  is  named  Ormulum 
Because  that  Orm  it  wrought. 


He  was  a  Canon  Regular  of  the  Order  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, and  he  had  a  brother,  Walter,  to  whom  he  dedicated 
his  work ;  and  that  is  all  we  know  of  him.  He  speaks 
thus  of  himself  and  his  work : — 


Nu  broSerr  Wallter  broflerr  min 

Affter  $e  fleeshess  kinde 

And  bro$err  min  i  Crisstenndom 

Durrh  f ulluhht  and  Surrh  trowwite 

And  broflerr  min  i  Godess  hus 

5et  o  "Se  Sridde  wise 

Durrh  Satt  witt  hafenn  taken  ba 

An  re^hell-boc  to  folljhenn 
Unnderr  kanunnkess  had  and  lif 
Swa  summ  Sannt  Awwstinn  sette. 
Ice  hafe  wennd  intill  Ennglissh 
Goddspelless  hall3he  lare 
Affterr  tfatt  little  witt  ftatt  me 
Min  Drihhtin  hafeftS  lenedd. 

And  unnc  birr"5  bafte  ftannken  Crist 
Datt  itt  iss  brohht  till  ende. 
Ice  hafe  sammnedd  o  "Sis  boc 
Da  Goddspelless  neh  alle 
Datt  sinndenn  o  iSe  messeboc 
Inn  all  fte  <ier  att  messe, 
And  agg  affter  "Se  Goddspell  stannt 
Datt  tatt  te  Goddspell  mene«-S. 


Now  brother  Walter,  brother  mine 
After  the  nature  of  the  flesh 
And  brother  mine  in  Christendom 
Through  baptism  and  belief 
And  brother  mine  in  God's  house 
Yet  of  the  third  manner 
Because  that  we   two  have  taken 

both 

One  rule-book  to  follow 
Under  canon's  rank  and  life 
As  Saint  Austin  appointed. 
I  have  turned  into  English 
The  Gospel's  holy  learning 
According  to  the  little  wit  that  to  me 
My  Lord  has  granted. 

And  it  befits  us  both  to  thank  Christ 

That  it  is  brought  to  an  end. 

I  have  joined  in  this  book 

The  Gospels  nearly  all 

That  are  in  the  mass-book 

In  all  the  year  at  mass, 

And  ever  after  the  Gospel  stands 

That  which  the  Gospel  meaneth. 


In  one  of  the  homilies  Orrnin  describes  the  death  of 


THE  1ORMULUM 


35 


the  wicked  Herod,  and  he  then  goes  on  to  speak  of  his 
burial  thus : — 


And  affter  ftatt  ta  wass  he  daed 
In  all  hiss  miccle  sinne 
Ace  flser  wass  mikell  oferrgarrt 
And  modi^nesse  shsewedd 
Abutenn  'Satt  stinnckennde  lie 
Dser  itt  wass  brohht  till  eorSe, 
Forr  all  t>e  baere  wass  bile33d 
WiSS  baetenn  gold  and  sillferr 
And  all  itt  wass  e33whaer  bisett 
WrSS  deorewurrSe  staness. 
And  onn  hiss  haef edd  waerenn  twa 
Gildene  cruness  sette 
And  himm  wass  sett  inn  his  rihht- 

hannd 

An  dere  kine3errde. 
And  swa  mann  barr  'Satt  fule  lie 
Till  Sser  he  bedenn  haffde. 
Swillc  mann  wass  ftatt  Herode  king 
Datt  let  te  chilldre  cwellenn 
For  Satte  he  wollde  cwellenn  Crist 
Amang  hemm,  3iff  he  mihhte. 


And  after  that  then  was  he  dead 

In  all  his  great  sin 

But  there  was  great  haughtiness 

And  pride  shown 

About  that  stinking  corpse 

Till  it  was  brought  to  earth, 

For  all  the  bier  was  belaid 

With  beaten  gold  and  silver 

And  all  of  it  was  everywhere  beset 

With  precious  stones. 

And  on  his  head  were  two 

Golden  crowns  set 

And  him  was  set  in  his  right  hand 

A  precious  kingly  sceptre. 
And  so  men  bare  that  filthy  corpse 
To  where  he  had  them  bidden. 
Such  man  was  that  King  Herod 
That  let  the  children  be  slain 
Because  that  he  would  slay  Christ 
Among  them  if  he  might. 


It  will  be  noticed  that  Ormin  dispenses  both  with 
alliteration  and  rhyme,  but  if  care  be  taken  to  sound  all 
final  syllables  it  will  be  found  that  his  verses  have  a 
melodious  swing  with  their  alternate  eight  and  seven 
syllables.  He  was  a  purist  in  spelling  also,  doubling 
most  carefully  the  consonants  after  short  vowels,  and  he 
was  desirous  that  we  should  do  the  like.  Whosoever 
should  wish  to  copy  the  book — 

Himm  bidde  ice  "Sat  he't  write  rihht 
Swa  summ  fiiss  boc  him  taecheSS 
And  tatt  he  loke  well  Satt  he 


An  bocstaff  write  twi33ess 
E33wb.8er  'Saet  itt  uppo  ftiss  boe 
Iss  writen  o  Satt  wise. 


Him  bid  I  that  he  write  exactly 
As  this  book  teacheth  him 
And  that  he  look  well  that  he 
A  letter  write  twice 
Wherever  that  it  in  this  book 
Is  written  in  that  manner. 
1)2 


36        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

If  he  does  not,  he  is  not  writing  good  English,  that  let 
him  know  for  certain. 


LAYAMON. 

AT  the  dawn  of  the  thirteenth  century  there  appears  a 
remarkable  poem,  the  *  Brut  of  La3amon.'  Of  the  poet 
we  know  nothing  but  what  he  tells  us  in  his  opening 
lines  : — 

An  preost  wes  on  leoden,  A  priest  was  among  the  people, 

La3amon  wes  ihoten ;  La^amon  he  was  named ; 

he  wes  Leovenaftes  sone,  he  was  son  of  Leovena'S, 

li$e  him  beo  drihte ;  may  the  Lord  be  gracious  to  him ; 

he  wonede  at  Ernleje  he  dwelt  at  Ernleje 

at  teftelen  are  chirechen  at  a  noble  church 

uppen  Sevarne  stafte  upon  Severn  bank 

on  fest  Kadestone  hard  by  Eadestone 

Ser  he  bock  radde.  where  he  read  book. 

Hit  com  him  on  mode  It  came  to  him  in  mind 

"Set  he  wolde  of  Engle  that  he  would  of  the  English 

fta  aeSelen  tellen.  the  noble  deeds  recount. 

La^amon  gon  IrSen  La3amon  began  to  journey 

wide  ^ond  "Sas  leode  wide  over  the  land 

and  biwon  Sa  teftela  boc  and  gained  the  noble  books 

fia  he  to  bisne  nom.  which  he  for  pattern  took. 

Two  books  he  procured,  one  English,  one  Latin,  but 
he  made  very  little  use  of  them. 

Boc  he  nom  'Se  ftridde  He  took  the  third  book 

leide  "Ser  amidden  and  laid  it  there  in  the  midst ; 

"Sa  makede  a  Frenchis  clerc  a  French  clerk  made  it 

Wace  wes  ihoten ;  Wace  he  was  named ; 

he  well  couSe  writen  he  well  could  write 

and  he  hoe  3ef  Sare  aeftelen  and  he  gave  it  to  the  noble 

.331ienor  fte  wes  Henries  quene  Eleanor  who  was  Henry's  queen 

•Ses  heyes  kinges,  the  high  king. 


LA  YAMON 


37 


La3amon  leide  'Seos  boc  Lasamon  laid  this  book 

and  vSa  leaf  wende  and  turned  the  leaves 

he  heom  leofliche  beheold,  he  beheld  them  lovingly, 

lifte  him  beo  drihten  may  the  Lord  be  gracious  to  him  ; 

fe'Seren  he  nom  mid  fingren  pen  he  took  with  fingers 

and  fiede  on  boc  felle.  and  wrote  on  book  skin. 

The  poem  consists  of  32,250  lines,  while  the  '  Brut '  of 
Wace,  of  which  Lasamon's  is  a  translation  and  expan- 
sion, has  but  15,300  lines.  The  additions  greatly  excel 
the  original  in  beauty  and  imaginative  power,  and  it  is 
remarkable  that  this  long  poem,  though  based  on  a 
French  work,  contains  only  about  a  hundred  words  of 
French  origin.  The  poem  was  evidently  a  lifelong 
labour  of  love,  and  Lajamon  strives  to  hold  fast  to  the 
Old  English  laws  of  accent  and  rhythm  and  alliteration. 

In  the  conduct  of  the  story  La3amon  follows  Wace 
and  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  closely,  and  ends,  as  they  do, 
with  the  British  king  Cadwalader  (about  690).  We  see 
that  the  legends  of  Arthur  have  grown  in  fulness  and 
beauty,  and  the  account  of  the  '  Passing  of  Arthur  '  is 
especially  interesting.  After  a  great  battle  all  Arthur's 
host  lies  slain,  and  he  is  sorely  wounded.  Then  he 
says  to  his  faithful  follower : — 

Ich  wulle  varen  to  Avalun  I  will  fare  to  Avalon 

to  vairest  alre  maidene  to  the  fairest  of  all  maidens 

to  Argante  ftere  quene  to  Argante  the  queen 

alven  swiiSe  sceone,  elf  exceeding  bright, 

and  heo  seal  mine  wunden  and  she  shall  my  wounds 

makien  alle  isunde  make  all  sound 

al  hal  me  makien  all  hale  me  make 

mid  halewei3e  drenchen.  with  healing  drinks. 

And  seofte  ich  cumen  wulle  And  afterwards  I  will  come 

to  mine  kineriche  to  my  kingdom 

and  wunien  mid  Brutten  and  dwell  with  Britons 

mid  muchelere  wunne.  with  great  joy. 


38        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


l&ine  'San  worden 

$er  com  of  se  wenden 

•Sat  wes  an  sceort  bat  liSen 

and  twa  wimmen  fterinne 

wunderliche  idihte ; 

and  heo  nomen  Arthur  anan 

and  aneouste  bine  vereden 

and  softe  hine  adun  leiden 

and  for 5  gunnen  hine  liften. 

Bruttes  ileveiS  ^ete 

that  he  beo  on  live 

and  wunnie  in  Avalun 

mid  fairest  alre  alven, 

and  lokieS  evere  Bruttes  jete 

whan  Arthur  cume  liften. 


Even  with  the  words 

there  came  from  sea  wending 

that  was  a  short  boat  sailing 

and  two  women  therein 

wonderfully  adorned ; 

and  they  took  Arthur  anon 

and  straight  him  bore  away. 

and  softly  him  down  laid 

and  forth  began  to  sail  away. 

Britons  believe  yet 

that  he  is  alive 

and  dwelling  in  Avalon 

with  the  fairest  of  all  elves, 

and  look  the  Britons  ever  yet 

when  Arthur  shall  come  over  the 


THE    'ANCREN    RIWLE.' 

EARLY  in  the  thirteenth  century  there  was  a  tiny  sister- 
hood of  nuns  at  Tarente  on  the  Stour  in  Dorset.  The 
nunnery  had  been  founded  by  one  of  the  Conqueror's 
barons,  and  it  was  rebuilt  by  Richard  le  Poor,  who 
was  bishop  of  Salisbury  and  afterwards  of  Durham.  He 
was  born  at  Tarente,  and  when  he  died,  in  1237,  his 
heart  was  buried  in  the  nunnery.  The  nuns  were  few 
in  number  and  of  noble  birth,  and  in  the  bloom  of  their 
youth  they  had  forsaken  the  world ;  and,  in  response  to 
their  repeated  request,  their  spiritual  adviser  wrote  for 
them  the  book  called  '  Ancren  Riwle '  (Anchoresses' 
Rule).  It  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  piety  and  culture, 
and  with  good  reason  it  is  conjectured  that  the  author 
was  Bishop  le  Poor.  The  work  is  in  eight  books,  of 
which  the  first  and  last  treat  of  the  outward  life  and  ex- 


THE  'ANCREN  RIWLE^ 


39 


ternal  observances  and  devotions.     The  remaining  books 
treat  of  the  inner  life,  and  the  writer's  chief  delight  is  in 
picturing  the  purity  of  the  heart  and  the  love  of  Christ. 
In  a  passage  on  comfort  in  temptation  he  says : — 


Ure  Louerd,  hwon  he  ifloleS 
ftet  we  beoff  itented,  he  plaieft  mid 
us,  ase  $e  moder  mid  hire  junge 
deorlinge;  vlihft  from  him,  and 
hut  hire,  and  let  hit  sitten  one, 
and  loken  3eorne  abuten,  and  cleo- 
pien  Dame !  dame !  and  weopen 
one  hwule ;  and  fteonne  mid  i- 
spredde  ermes  leaped  lauhwinde 
vor$,  and  cluppeft  and  cusse'S  and 
wipe's  his  eien.  Biht  so  ure 
Louerd  let  us  one  iwurSen  oSer 
hwules,  and  wiftdrawe'S  his  grace 
and  his  cumfort,  'Set  we  ne  ivindeS 
swetnesse  in  none  'Singe  "Set  we  wel 
do'S,  ne  savur  of  heorte  ;  and  ftauh, 
iSet  ilke  point  ne  luveft  he  us 
ure  leove  veder  never  "Se  lesce, 
auh  he  deiS  hit  for  muchel  luve 
Set  he  haveft  to  us. 


Our  Lord  when  He  suffereth 
that  we  be  tempted,  He  playeth 
with  us,  as  the  mother  with  her 
young  darling  ;  she  fleeth  from  it, 
and  hides  herself,  and  lets  it  sit 
alone,  and  look  yearningly  about, 
and  call  '  Dame !  dame  ! '  and 
weep  awhile ;  and  then  with  out- 
spread arms  leapeth  laughing 
forth,  and  claspeth  and  kisseth 
and  wipeth  its  eyes.  Just  so  our 
Lord  leaves  us  alone  sometimes, 
and  withdraweth  His  grace  and 
His  comfort,  so  that  we  find  sweet- 
ness in  nothing  that  we  do  well, 
nor  joy  of  heart ;  and  yet,  in  that 
same  moment  He,  our  dear  Father, 
loveth  us  nevertheless,  but  He 
doth  it  for  the  great  love  that  He 
hath  for  us. 


1  Life  of  St.  Juliana.' — At  about  the  same  time  were 
written  the  Lives  of  St.  Juliana,  St.  Margaret,  St. 
Catherine,  and  a  work  called  *  Hali  Meidenhad  '  (Holy 
Maidenhood),  and  from  their  similarity  in  language  and 
sentiment,  it  is  thought  that  the  author  of  the  '  Ancren 
Eiwle '  wrote  these  also. 

Devotion  to  the  Virgin  Mary  rose  to  its  highest  point 
of  enthusiasm  in  the  thirteenth  century,  after  the  writ- 
ing and  preaching  of  St.  Bernard.  Virginity  was  held 
to  be  the  highest  crown  of  virtue,  and  the  doctrine  was 
taught  that  an  eternal  reward  of  a  hundredfold  is  re- 


40        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


served  to  virginity,  of  sixtyfold  to  widowhood  after  one 
marriage,  and  of  thirty  fold  only  to  the  married.  The 
lives  of  these  female  saints  tell  how  they  maintained 
this  crown  of  virtue  in  spite  of  the  fiercest  persecution. 
Of  St.  Juliana  we  are  told  : — 

This  maiden  and  this  martyr 
was  named  Juliana,  in  the  city  of 
Nicomedia,  and  of  heathen  kin  she 
came,  and  her  fleshly  father  was 
called  Africanus,  greatest  of  the 
heathen.  Those  that  were  Chris- 
tians he  strongly  drew  them  to 
death.  But  she,  as  one  that  the 
Heavenly  Father  loved,  left  all  her 
elders'  customs,  and  began  to  love 
the  living  Lord,  the  lovesome  God, 
that  directs  and  rules  all  that  is  in 
the  world. 

Then  we  are  told  that  Eleusius,  the  High  Eeve,  fell 
in  love  with  her  : — 


Deos  meiden  ant  tis  martir  wes 
iuliaue  inempnet,  in  nichomedes 
burh.  ant  of  heSene  cun  icumen 
ant  hire  fleschliche  feder  wes 
affrican  ihaten,  of  $e  heSene  mest. 
'Seo  "Sat  cristene  weren,  derfliche 
droh  ham  to  deaSe.  ah  heo  as 
'Seo  'Sat  te  heovenlich  feder  luvede, 
leafde  al  hire  aldrene  lahen,  ant 
bigon  to  luvien  ftene  liviende 
lauerd,  '<Se  lufsum  godd.ftat  wisseS 
ant  weldeS  al  $at  is  on  worlde. 


As  he  sumchere  iseh  hire  ut- 
nume  feir  ant  freoliche,  he  felde 
him  iwundet,  'Sat  wiSuten  lech- 
nunge  of  hire  libben  he  ne  mahte. 


As  he  once  saw  her  exquisitely 
fair  and  noble,  he  felt  himself 
wounded,  so  that  without  healing 
of  her,  live  he  might  not. 

The  father  approved  the  suitor  and  promised  the 
maiden,  but — 


Ah  heo  truste  on  him  "Sat  ne 
trukeneS  namon,  'Sat  truste  5  treow- 
liche  on  him  ant  euch  deis  dei 
eode  to  chirche  to  leornen  godes 
lare,  jeornliche  to  witen  hu  ha 
mahte  best  witen  hire  unweommet, 
ant  hire  mei vShad  wiSuten  man 
of  monne. 


But  she  trusted  on  Him  that 
deceiveth  no  man  that  trusteth 
truly  on  Him,  and  at  each  day's 
dawn  she  went  to  church  to  learn 
God's  lore,  earnestly  to  know  how 
she  might  best  keep  herself  un- 
spotted, and  her  maidenhood  with- 
out commerce  of  man. 


Father  and  lover  strove  to  overcome  her  scruples, 
but  fair  words,  promises,  menaces,  cruel  scourgings  and 


'THE  OWL  AND   THE  NIGHTINGALE1  41 

torments  were  of  no  avail.  She  was  cast  into  prison  and 
then  was  brought  forth  into  the  market  place  to  die. 

Ant  $e  edie  engles  wift  hire  And  the  blessed  angels  with 

sawle      singinde      sihen     toward  her  soul    singing    soared  toward 

heovene.     softften    sone     "Serefter  heaven.     Then  soon  after  came  a 

com    a    seli    wummon  sophie   i-  blessed  woman  named  Sophia  on 

nempnet  o  rade  toward  rome  ant  her  way  to  Kome,  and  took  this 

nom  Sis  meidenes  bodi,  ant  ber  maiden's  body  and  bare  it  in  a 

hit  in  a  bat  biwun^en  deorliche  in  boat,  wound  up  dearly  in  precious 

deorewurSe  claftes.    as  ha  weren  cloths.  As  they  were  on  the  water, 

in  wettre  com  a  steorm  ant  draf  came  a  storm  and  drove  them  to 

ham  to  londe  into  campaine,  ant  land    into    Campania,  and  there 

$er  lette  sophie  from  «e  sea  a  mile  Sophia,  a  mile  from  the  sea,  had  a 

setten  a  chirche  ant  don  hire  bodi  church  set  and  put  her  body  there- 

'Srin  in  stanene  ftruh  hehliche  as  in  in  a  stone  coffin  solemnly,  as  it 

hit  deh  halhen  to  donne.  is  right  to  do  with  holy  ones. 


'THE  OWL  AND  THE   NIGHTINGALE.' 

THE  fine  poem  of  '  The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale '  belongs 
to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  author  is 
unknown,  but  he  is  thought  to  have  been  one  Nicholas 
de  Guildford,  who  is  named  and  described  in  the  poem 
and  who  lived  at  Portesham  in  Dorset.  Whether  he  was 
a  layman  or  cleric  we  cannot  tell,  but  he  must  have  been 
a  man  of  fine  taste  and  culture.  '  The  poem  is  one  of 
the  most  genuine  and  original  idylls  of  any  age  or  of 
any  language,  and  the  Englishman  who  wants  an  in- 
ducement to  master  the  dialects  of  the  thirteenth  century 
may  assure  himself  of  a  pleasure  when  he  is  able  to 
appreciate  this  exquisite  pastoral.' l  The  subject  is  a 
scolding-match  between  the  two  birds,  a  theme  quite 

1  Earle. 


42        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

new  to  English  literature,  though  such  poetical  contests 
were  common  enough  in  the  French  poetry  of  the 
troubadours. 

The  poem  opens  thus  :— 

Ich  was  in  one  sumere  dale  I  was  in  a  certain  dale 

In  one  swifle  dijele  hale  In  a  very  secret  place 

I-herde  ich  holde  grete  tale  I  heard  hold  great  talk 

An  ule  and  one  nijtingale  ;  An  owl  and  a  nightingale  ; 

Dat  plait  was  stif  and  stare  and  That  pleading  was  stiff  and  stark 

strong,  and  strong, 

Sum  wile  softe,  and  lud  among  :  Sometimes  soft,  and  loud  some- 
times : 

And  aifler  a3en  ofler  swal  And  each  against  the  other  swelled 

And  let  flat  vule  mod  ut  al.  And  let  out  all  that  evil  mood. 

De  nijtingale  begon  fle  speche  The  nightingale  began  the  speaking 

In  one  hurne  of  one  beche  In  a  corner  of  a  valley 

And  sat  up  one  vaire  boje,  And  sat  upon  a  fair  bough, 

Dar  were  abute  blosme  i-no3e  There  were  about  blossoms  enough 

In  one  waste  Sicke  hegge  In  a  solitary  thick  hedge 

I-meind  mid  spire  and  grene  segge.  Mingled  with  spire-grass  and  green 


There  the    nightingale    sang   songs   which   to   the 
listener  seemed  sweeter  than  those  of  harp  or  pipe. 

Do  stod  on  old  stoc  flar  b  i-side  There   stood   an   old   stock  there 

beside 

Dar  'So  ule  song  hire  tide,  Where  the  owl  sang  in  her  turn, 

And  was  mid  ivi  al  bi-growe,  And  it  was  with  ivy  all  overgrown, 

Hit  was  flare  ule  earding-stowe.          It  was  the  owl's  dwelling-place. 

The    nightingale    beheld   the  owl  with   scorn   and 
disgust. 

•  Unwi3t,'  heo  sede, ' awei  flu  fleo,       'Uncanny,'   she  said,  'flee  thou 

away, 
Me  is  the  wers  flat  ich  $e  seo,  To  me  it  is  the  worse  that  I  see 

thee, 
Min    heorte  at-flifl,   and   fait  me      My  heart  flies  away,  my  tongue 

tunge  falters 

Wonne  flu  art  to  me  i-flrunge.'  When  thou  art  near  to  me.' 


'THE   OWL  AND   THE  NIGHTINGALE1  43 

The  owl  remained   silent  till  evening,  though  her 
heart  was  bursting.     Then,  after  singing,  she  asked  :— 

'  Hu  'Sinc'Se  nu  bi  mine  songe  ?  '  How  seems  it  now  of  my  singing? 

Wenst  flu  ftat  ich  ne  cunne  singe        Thinkest  thou  that  I  cannot  sing 
De3  ich  ne  cunne  of  writelinge  ?          Though  I  know  nothing  of  quaver- 
ings? 

5if  ich  fte  heolde  on  mine  vote  If  I  held  thee  in  my  foot 

So  hit  bi-tide  ftat  ich  mote  So  may  it  chance  that  I  may 

And  Su  were  ut  of  "Sine  rise  And  thou  wert  out  of  thy  branch 

Du  scholdest  singe  an  ofter  wise.'        So  shouldest  thou  sing  in  another 

fashion.' 

The  nightingale    upbraided  the    owl    for  her   evil 
appearance. 

'  Di  bodi  is  short,  fti  sweore  is  smal,       '  Thy  body  is  short,  thy  neck  is 

small 

Grettere  is  'Sin  heved  'San  ftu  all ;         Greater  is  thy  head  than  all ; 
Din  e3en  bee's  col-blake  and  brode      Thine    eyes    are    coal-black    and 

broad 
Ri}t  swo  heo  weren  i-peint  mid      Just  as  if  they  were  painted  with 

wode ;  woad ; 

Du  starest  so  'Su  wille  abiten  Thou  starest  as  if  thou  wilt  bite 

Al  'Sat  'Su  mi3t  mid  clivre  smiten.'        All  that  thou  with   claws  mayst 

smite.' 

Then  she  sang  again,  loud  and  clear,  like  a  harp. 

Deos  ule  luste  "Sider-ward  The  owl  listened  thitherward 

And  heold  hire  636  neofter-ward  And  held  her  eyes  the  other  way 

And  set  to-swolle  and  i-bol3e  And  sat  swollen  and  puffed 

Also  heo  hadde  on  frogge  i-swol3e,  Just  as  if  she  had  swallowed   a 

frog, 

For  heo  wel  wiste  and  was  i-war  For  well  she  knew  and  was  aware 

Dat  heo  song  hire  a  bisemar.  That  she  sang  in  mockery  of  her. 

The  owl  tries  to  draw  the  nightingale  from  her  cover. 

1  Whi  neltu  fleon  into  the  bare  'Why  wilt  thou   not  fly  into  the 

open, 

And  schewi  wheSer  unker  beo  And  show  which  of  us  two 

Of  bri3ter  heowe,  of  vairur  bleo  ? '         Is  of  brighter  hue,  of  fairer  colour  ? ' 


44 


HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


But  the  nightingale  answers : — 


'  No,  "Su  havest  wel  scharpe  clawe, 
Ne  kepich  no3t  "Sat  ftu  me  clawe  ; 

Du  havest  clivers  swiite  stronge, 
Dutwengst'Sar-mid  so  do$  a  tonge.' 


1  No,  thou  hast  very  sharp  claws, 
I  have  no  wish  that  thou  shouldst 

claw  me ; 

Thou  hast  claws  very  strong, 
Thou  pinchest  with  them  as  with 

a  tongs.' 


Each  in  turn  contends  that  her  singing  is  most  use- 
ful.    The  owl  says  : — 


'  Mi  stefne  is  bold  and  no;t  unornc, 

Heo  is  i-lich  one  grete  home  ; 
And  "Sin  is  i-lich  one  pipe 
Of  one  smale  weode  unripe. 
Ich  singe  bet  "San  $u  dest ; 
Du  chaterest  so  do$  on  Irish  prest. 
Ich  singe  an  eve  arirtc  time 
And  sco-Stfe  won  hit  is  bed-time, 
De  dridde  srSe  at  middelni^te. 
And  so  ich  mine  song  adi^te 
Wone  ich  i-seo  arise  veoure 
Otter  dai-rim  ofter  dai-sterre. 
Ich  do  god  mid  mine  Srote 
And  warni  men  to  heore  note.' 


4  My  voice  is  bold,  and  not  unpleas- 

ing, 

It  is  like  a  great  horn  ; 
And  thine  is  like  a  pipe 
Of  a  small  unripe  weed. 
I  sing  better  than  thou  dost ; 
Thou  chatterest  like  an  Irish  priest. 
I  sing  at  eve  at  a  right  time 
And  later  when  it  is  bed  time, 
The  third  time  at  midnight. 
And  so  I  order  my  song 
When  I  see  arise  afar 
Either  the  daybreak  or  the  day-star. 
I  do  good  with  my  throat 
And  warn  men  in  their  need.' 


The  nightingale  replies  that  the  owl's  song  is  dismal, 
and  fit  to  make  men  weep. 


'  Ac  ich  alle  blisse  mid  me  bringe, 
Ech  wijt  is  glad  for  mine  Singe. 

De  blostme   ginneS    springe   and 

sprede 

Beotte  ine  treo  and  ek  on  mede 
De  lilie  mid  hire  faire  wlite 
WelcumeS  me,  'Sat  «u  hit  wite, 
Bit  me  mid  hire  faire  bleo 
Dat  ich  schulle  to  hire  fleo. 


•  But  I  bring  all  bliss  with  me, 
Each  wight  is  glad  on  account  of 

me. 
The  blossoms  begin  to  spring  and 


Both  in  the  tree  and  in  the  mead 
The  lily  with  her  fair  splendour 
Welcomes  me,  as  you  well  know, 
Invites  me  with  her  fair  colour 
That  I  should  fly  to  her. 


'KING  HORN'  45 

De  rose  also  mid  hire  rude  Also  the  rose  with  her  red 

Dat  cumeft  ut  of  fte  "Some  wude  That  comes  out  of  the  thorny  wood 

Bit  me  "Sat  ich  shulle  singe  Invites  me  that  I  shall  sing 

Vor  hire  luve  one  skentinge.'  For  her  love  some  pleasant  thing.' 

The  dispute  will  not  end,  and  they  are  persuaded  to 
submit  it  to  '  Maister  Nichole,'  and  so,— 

To  Portesham  -So  heo  bi-come,  To  Portesham  then  they  come, 

Ah  hu  heo  spedde  of  heore  dome          But    how    they  sped    with    their 

judgment 

Ne  can  ich  en  namore  telle  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  any  more ; 

Her  is  na  more  of  ftisse  spelle.  Here  is  no  more  of  this  story. 


'KING   HORN/ 

IN  the  latter  half  of  the  thirteenth  century  we  meet  with 
two  metrical  romances,  *  King  Horn  '  and  '  Havelok  the  * 
Davne7*~which  appear  to  have  been  favourites.  The  next 
century  produced  a  great  number  of  such  works,  as  we 
shall  find,  and  these  two  are  interesting  as  being  the 
earliest.  They  are  both  translations  from  French 
originals,  but  these  French  originals  are  in  their  turn 
thought  to  be  based  on  old  English  stories. 

The  poets  no  longer  make  use  of  the  Old  English 
ornament  of  alliteration,  but  they  use  instead  the  French 
device  of  end  rhymes.  The  versification  is  sprightly  and 
pleasing  (in  *  King  Horn '  especially),  and  the  poem  was 
probably  sung  to  the  harp. 

The  poem  of  '  King  Horn '  consists  of  nearly  1,600 
short  verses,  and  it  opens  thus  :— 

Alle  beon  he  bli«e  May  they  all  be  blithe 

Dat  to  my  songe  lyfle ;  That  listen  to  my  song ; 

A  sang  ihc  schal  }ou  singe  A  song  I  shall  sing  you 

Of  Murri  $e  kinge.  Of  Murry  the  king. 


46        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


King  he  was  biweste 
So  longe  so  hit  laste ; 
Godhild  het  his  quen, 
Fairer  ne  mijte  non  ben. 
He  hadde  a  sone  "Sat  het  Horn 
Fairer  ne  mijte  non  beo  born. 
He  was  whit  so  fte  flur 
Rose  red  was  his  colur, 
In  none  kinge-riche 
Nas  non  his  iliche. 


King  he  was  towards  the  west 
As  far  as  it  reached  ; 
Godhild  was  named  his  queen 
Fairer  there  might  none  be. 
He  had  a  son  named  Horn 
Fairer  might  none  be  born. 
He  was  white  as  the  flower 
Rose  red  was  his  colour, 
In  no  kingdom 
Was  there  his  like. 


But  sore  trouble  fell  upon  these  happy  ones. 


Hit  was  upon  a  someres  day 

Also  ihc  3ou  telle  may 

Murri  $e  gode  king 

Rod  on  his  pleing 

Bi  fie  se  side 

Ase  he  was  woned  ride. 

He  fond  by  the  stronde 

Arived  on  his  londe 

Schipes  fiftene 

Wi5  Sarazins  kene. 


It  was  upon  a  summer's  day 

As  I  may  tell  you 

Murry  the  good  king 

Rode  on  his  playing 

By  the  sea  side 

As  he  was  wont  to  ride. 

He  found  by  the  strand 

Arrived  on  his  land 

Ships  fifteen 

With  Saracens  bold. 


The  fierce  heathens  slew  the  king,  seized  the  land, 
and  destroyed  the  churches. 

Of  all  women 

Most  wretched  was  Godhild  then ; 

For  Murry  she  wept  sore 

And  for  Horn  yet  more. 

She  went  out  of  hall 

From  her  maidens  all 

Under  a  rock  of  stone 

There  she  lived  alone. 


Of  all  wymmane 
Wurst  was  Godhild  Nanne  ; 
For  Murri  heo  weop  sore 
And  for  Horn  $ute  more. 
Heo  wenten  ut  of  halle 
Fram  hire  maidenes  alle 
Under  a  roche  of  stone 
Der  heo  livede  alone. 


The  Saracens  spared  Horn's  life  for  his  beauty's 
sake,  but  set  him  and  his  twelve  companions  in  a  boat 
and  sent  it  forth  to  sea. 

De  se  bigan  to  flowe  The  sea  began  to  flow 

And  Horn  child  to  rowe  ;  And  Horn  child  to  row ; 

De  se  ~5at  schup  so  faste  drof  The  sea  that  ship  drove  so  fast 

De   hildren  dradde  fterof ,  The  children  had  dread  thereof, 


'KING  HORN*                                     47 

Al  5e  day  and  al  8e  iii}!  All  the  day  and  all  the  night 

Til  hit  sprang  $e  dai  lijt,  Till  the  daylight  sprang, 

Til  Horn  sa^  on  $e  stronde  Till  Horn  saw  on  the  strand 

Men  gon  in  8e  londe.  Men  walking  on  the  land. 

'  Feren  '  quaft  he  '  3onge  '  Comrades  young,'  quoth  he, 

Ihc  telle  3ou  tiftinge,  '  I  tell  you  tidings, 

Ihc  here  fo3eles  singe  I  hear  birds  sing 

And  se  ftat  gras  him  springe.'  And  I  see  the  grass  springing.' 

They  have  reached  the  land  of  Westernesse,  and  the 
good  King  Aylmar  makes  them  welcome,  and  gives 
Horn  in  charge  to  his  steward. 

Stiwarde  tak  nu  here  Steward  take  now  here 

Mi  fundlyng  for  to  lere  My  foundling  to  learn 

Of  Sine  mestere  Of  thy  mastery 

Of  wude  and  of  rivere ;  Of  wood  and  of  river ; 

And  tech  him  to  harpe  And  teach  him  to  harp 

Wift  his  nayles  scharpe,  With  his  nails  sharp, 

Bivore  me  to  kerve  Before  me  to  carve 

And  of  fte  cupe  serve.  And  with  the  cup  serve. 

Horn  gives  good  heed  to  all,  and  soon  becomes  a 
great  favourite. 

Luvede  men  Horn  child,  Men  loved  Horn  child, 

And  mesthim  lovede  Bymenhild,  And  Bymenhild  loved  him  most, 

De  kynges  O3ene  dorter  ;  The  king's  own  daughter ; 

He  was  mest  in  $03te,  He  was  most  in  her  thought, 

Heo  lovede  so  Horn  child  She  loved  so  much  Horn  child 

Dat  ne3  heo  gan  wexe  wild.  That  nearly  she  waxed  wild. 

By  means  of  the  steward  she  sent  for  Horn,  and  he 
came  to  her  bower. 

On  knes  he  him  sette  On  his  knees  he  set  himself 

And  sweteliche  hure  grette ;  And  sweetly  greeted  her ; 

Of  his  feire  si3te  Of  his  fair  sight 

Al  t>e  bur  gan  Ii3te.  All  the  bower  became  light. 

He  spoke  to  her  with  reverence,  and  asked  her  will. 


4S        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Bymenhild  up  gan  stonde  Rymenhild  up  did  stand 

And  tok  him  bi  $e  honde ;  And  took  him  by  the  hand 

Heo  sette  him  on  pelle  She  set  him  on  the  dais 

Of  wyn  to  drinke  his  fulle  ;  Of  wine  to  drink  his  fill ; 

Heo  makede  him  faire  chere  She  made  him  fine  cheer 

And  tok  him  abute  'Se  swere ;  And  took  him  about  the  neck ; 

Ofte  heo  him  custe  Oft  she  kissed  him 

So  wel  so  hire  luste.  So  well  he  pleased  her. 

*  Horn '  heo  sede,  *  wi$ute  strif  '  Horn,'  she  said,  «  without  strife 

Du  schalt  have  me  to  fti  wif.'  Thou  shalt  have  me  for  thy  wife.' 

Horn  declares  himself  unworthy  of  such  honour, 
seeing  that  he  is  not  yet  a  knight ;  but  by  the  lady's 
contrivance  he  is  knighted  by  the  king  next  day.  She 
gives  him  a  ring,  which  will  ever  ensure  him  victory,  and 
that  very  day  he  slays  a  hundred  Saracens  newly  landed 
from  their  ships  and  intent  on  plunder.  But  the  course 
of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  ;  new  troubles  arise 
which  we  have  not  space  to  follow,  and  for  seven  years 
Horn  becomes  a  wanderer.  At  last  he  overcomes  every 
difficulty,  recovers  his  father's  kingdom,  rescues  his 
mother,  and  returns  to  Kymenhild,  who  is  nearly  dead 
with  despair. 

Her  endeft  5e  tale  of  Horn  Here  endeth  the  tale  of  Horn 

Dat  fair  was  and  nojt  unorn ;  That  fair  was  and  naught  uncomely , 

Make  we  us  glade  cure  among,  Make  we  us  glad  among  you, 

For  $us  him  endeS Homes  song.  For  thus  endeth  Horn's  song. 

Jesus  5at  is  of  hevene  king  Jesus  that  is  of  heaven  king 

5eve  us  alle  his  suete  blessing.  Give  us  all  his  sweet  blessing. 


ROBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER. 

THERE  exists  a  long  rhyming  Chronicle  of  England  of 
over  12,000  lines,  which  is  ascribed  to  a  Kobert  of  Glou- 
cester, but  nothing  certain  is  known  of  him.  The  eight 


ROBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER  49 

extant  manuscripts  fall  into  two  classes,  which  are  nearly 
identical  in  contents  up  to  the  end  of  Henry  I.,  but  from 
that  point  to  the  close  of  the  poem  (A.D.  1270)  they 
differ  greatly.  In  the  one  set  about  2,900  lines  are  devoted 
to  this  period ;  in  the  other  only  about  600  lines,  and  the 
language  also  is  different.  It  is,  therefore,  almost  cer- 
tain that  the  existing  Chronicle  is  the  work  of  two,  if 
not  three,  writers.  For  it  is  possible  that  the  original 
Chronicle  ended  with  Henry  I.,  and  that  a  longer  and  a 
shorter  extension  were  made  by  two  somewhat  later 
writers. 

The  writer  of  the  longer  extension  in  describing  the 
Battle  of  Evesham  speaks  of  the  darkness  which  pre- 
vailed for  thirty  miles  round,  and  which  was  so  great 
that  the  monks  could  not  see  to  read  the  daily  service. 
He  adds  : — 

Hs  isei  roberd 
\>at  verst  J?is  boo  made,     and  was  wel  sore  aferd. 

The  language  of  the  poem  is  -the  dialect  of  Glouces- 
tershire, and  the  writer  shows  a  minute  acquaintance 
with  local  details  in  speaking  of  Gloucester,  and  the 
opinion  is  therefore  probably  correct  that  he  was  a  monk 
in  Gloucester  Abbey. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  Chronicle  the  writer  closely 
follows  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  and  like  him  he  starts    * 
with  a  description  of  the  beauty  and  strength  of  this 
land. 

Engelond  his  a  wel  god  lond,  iche  England  is  a  very  good  land,  I 

wene  of  eche  lond  best,  ween  of  every  land  the  best ;  set  in 

Iset  in  t?e  on  end  of  >e  worlde,  as  the  one  end  of  the  world,  as  in  the 

al  in  >e  west.  far  west.  The  sea  goeth  all  about 


50         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


pe  see  ge)>  him  al  aboute,  he  stond 

as  in  an  yle ; 
Of   fon   hii  dorre  t>e  lasse  doute, 

bote  hit  be  bor^  gyle 
Of  folc  of  the  selve  lond,  as  me 

hath  yseye  wyle. 


it ;  it  stands  as  an  isle.  Of  foes 
they  need  have  the  less  fear,  ex- 
cept it  be  through  guile  of  folk  of 
the  same  land,  as  has  been  seen 
sometimes. 


The  writer  also  makes  great  use  of  Henry  of  Hunting- 
don, William  of  Malmesbury,  and  the  Saxon  Chronicle, 
and  in  the  latter  part  he  writes  from  his  own  knowledge 
as  a  contemporary. 

In  describing  the  effect  of  the  Norman  Conquest  upon 
the  language  of  England,  the  writer  says  :— 

Thus  came  England  into  Nor- 
mandy's hand,  and  the  Normans 
could  not  speak  then  any  but  their 
own  speech ;  and  they  spoke  French 
as  they  did  at  home,  and  they 
taught  their  children  also.  So 
that  the  high  men  of  this  land, 
that  came  of  their  blood,  hold  all 
the  same  speech  which  they 
brought  from  their  home.  For 
unless  a  man  know  French  he  is 
little  regarded ;  but  the  low  men 
hold  to  English,  and  to  their  own 
speech  yet.  I  ween  there  are  in 
all  the  world  countries  none  which 
do  not  hold  their  own  speech,  but 
England  only.  But  well  we  know 
that  to  know  both  is  well,  for  the 
more  a  man  knows  the  more  worth 
he  is. 


pus  com,  lo  !  Engelond  into  Nor- 

mandies'  hond 
And  \>e  Normans  ne  coube  speke 

)>o,  bote  hore  owe  speche, 
And   speke   French   as    hii    dude 

atom,   and  hor    children    dude 

also  teche ; 
So  pat  heiemen  of  )>is  lond,  >at  of 

hor  blod  come, 
HoldeJ>  alle  )>ulke  speche,  >at  hii 

of  horn  nome. 
Vor  bote  a  man  conne  Frenss,  me- 

telb  of  him  lute ; 
Ac   lowe   men  holde>  to  Engliss, 

and  to  hor  owe  speche  3ute. 
Ich   wene    J?er  ne    be>   in  al  )>e 

world  contreyes  none, 
pat  ne  holdej?  to  hor  owe  speche, 

bote  Engelond  one, 
Ac  wel  me  wot  vor  to  conne  bo]>e 

wel  it  is, 
Vor  J>e  more  )>at  a  mon  can,   )>e 

more  wurj>e  he  is. 

In  this  manner  '  Olde  Robert '  plods  on  through  his 
long  poem.     *  As  literature  it  is  as  worthless  as  12,000 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  CENTURY   51 

lines  of  verse  without  a  spark  of  poetry  can  be,  but  to 
the  student  of  the  earlier  forms  of  English  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Chronicle  is  of  the  greatest  value.'1 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH   CENTURY. 

BEFORE  entering  on  the  next  century  it  may  be  well  to 
glance  back  over  the  course  of  the  thirteenth,  and  to  in- 
dicate a  few  other  works  which,  though  minor  ones,  are 
interesting. 

'  Proverbs  of  Alfred.' — About  the  middle  of  the  cen- 
tury appeared  a  poem  with  this  title  which  became  very 
popular.  Englishmen  looked  back  with  longing  over 
the  troubles  of  the  Conquest  to  Alfred,  '  Englene  hurde, 
Englene  durling  '  ('  England's  shepherd,  England's  dar- 
ling'), and  this  poem  professed  to  be  a  collection  of  his 
wise  sayings. 

The  following  are  a  few  of  the  lines : — 

pus  que\>  Alured  Thus  quoth  Alfred 

englene  frouer  :  England's  comfort : 

wolde  ye  mi  leode  Would  ye,  my  people, 

lusten  cure  louerde,  Listen  to  your  Lord, 

he  ou  wolde  wyse  ye  He  would  teach  you 

wisliche  Jnnges,  Wise  things, 

hu  ye  myhte  worldes  How  ye  might  the  world's 

wur>sipes  welde  Honour  possess 

and  ek  cure  saule  And  also  your  soul 

somnen  to  Criste.  Join  to  Christ. 

Wyse  were  >e  wordes  Wise  were  the  words 

\>e  seyde  J>e  king  Alured.  Which  King  Alfred  spoke. 

4  Genesis  and  Exodus.' — At  about  the  same  time,  but 

1  Aldis  Wright. 

B2 


52         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

in  another  part  of  the  country,  was  written  a  fine  poem, 
'The  Story  of  Genesis  and  Exodus,'  by  an  unknown 
author.  The  butler  tells  his  dream  to  Joseph  thus  :— 

Me  drempte,  ic  stod  at  a  win-tre  I  dreamt  I  stood  at  a  vine  tree 

fiat  adde  waxen  buges  fire.  That     had     fullgrown     branches 

three. 

Orest  it  blomede,  and  sifien  bar  First  it  bloomed  and  then  it  bare 

fie  beries  ripe,  wurfi  ic  war ;  The  berries  ripe,  as  I  was  ware  ; 

fie  kinges  kuppe  ic  hadde  on  bond,  The  king's  cup  I  had  in  hand, 

fie  beries  fior-inne  me  fihugte  ic  The  berries  therein  methought  I 

wrong  wrung 

and  bar  it  drinken  to  pharaon,  And  bare  it  to  drink  to  Pharaoh, 

me  drempte,  als  ic  was  wune  to  As  I  was  wont  to  do,  so  I  dreamed. 

don. 

'  A  Moral  Ode.'— This  is  a  poem  of  about  400  long 
lines,  written  by  one  who  looked  regretfully  back  over  a 
wasted  and  misspent  life.  He  says  :— 

Ich  am  eldre  >an  ich  wes  a  winter  I  am  older  than  I  was,  in  years 

and  ek  on  lore.  and  in  lore, 

Ich  welde  more  )>an  ich  dude,  my  I  wield  more  than  I  did,  my  wit 

wyt  auhte  beo  more,  ought  to  be  more, 

Wei  longe  ich  habbe  child  ibeo,  a  Well  long  have  I  been  a  child,  in 

worde  and  eke  on  dede ;  words  and  in  deeds  ; 

pah  ich  beo  of  wynter  old,  to  yong  Though  I  be  old  in  years,  too  young 

ich  am  on  rede.  am  I  in  wisdom. 

He  warns  others  to  do  good  while  they  may. 

Sende  god  biforen  him  man,  J>e  Let  a  man  send  some  good  before 

hwile  he  mai,  to  hevene,  him,  the  while  he  may,  to  heaven, 

For  betre  is  on  almesse  biforen,  For  better  is  one  alms  before,  than 

J>an  ben  after  sevene.  are  seven  after. 

The  joys  of  life  are  too  dearly  bought  with  wickedness. 

Swines  brede  is  swifie  swete,  swa  Swine's  flesh  is  very  sweet,  so  is 

is  of  wilde  dore ;  that  of  the  wild  deer ; 

Alto  dore  he  hit  bu}>,  >e  3effi  >er-  All  too  dear  he  buys  it,  who  gives 

fore  his  swore.  for  it  his  neck. 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  CENTURY   53 

The  joys  of  heaven  will  recompense  us  for  all 
troubles. 

Crist  seal  one  beon  inou  alle  his  Christ  shall  alone  be  enough  for 

durlinges  ;  all  his  darlings  ; 

he  one  is  muchele  mare  and  betere,  He  alone   is    much    greater  and 

j?anne  alle  o}>ere  >inges.  better  than  all  other  things. 

Crist  3yve  us  leden  her  swilc  lif,  Christ  grant   that  we   lead   here 

and  habben  her  swilc  ende,  such  a  life,  and  have  here  such 

an  end, 

f?at  we  moten  buder  come,  wanne  That  we  may  thither  come  when 

we  henne  wende.  we  go  hence. 

Dialects. — A  peculiar  mark  of  the  literature  of  this 
century  is  the  great  diversity  of  the  dialects  in  which 
the  works  are  written.  How  many  of  these  dialects  there 
were  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  but  there  seem  to  be 
three  fairly  well  marked,  viz.  the  Northern,  the  Mid- 
land, and  the  Southern,  and  they  doubtless  had  existed 
from  the  earliest  times,  and  were  characteristic  of  the 
three  great  races  and  kingdoms  of  Northumbria,  Mercia, 
and  Wessex. 

In  the  seventh  and  eighth  centuries  the  supremacy 
belonged  to  Northumbria,  and  the  Northern  dialect  was 
the  language  of  literature ;  then  the  supremacy  passed  to 
Wessex,  and  the  language  of  the  South  was  the  literary 
or  King's  English  till  the  coming  of  the  Normans. 
Then  for  nearly  two  hundred  years  there  was  no  central 
standard  or  literary  language,  and  each  writer  uses  the 
dialect  of  his  own  district.  La3amon  uses  the  language 
of  the  South  and  West,  and  Ormin  that  of  the  North 
and  East.  The  ballad  of  '  King  Horn '  is  in  the  Southern 
dialect,  that  of  '  Havelok '  in  the  East  Midland.  Robert 
of  Gloucester's  West-country  dialect  is  very  strongly 


54         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

marked.  The  poem  of  '  The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale '  is 
in  the  Southern  dialect ;  that  of  '  Genesis  and  Exodus ' 
has  the  marks  of  the  Midland. 

Of  La3amon's  great  poem  there  are  two  texts  ex- 
tant, of  which  the  one  is  considerably  shorter  than  the 
other,  and  appears  to  belong  to  a  time  some  thirty  or 
forty  years  later.  This  shorter  and  later  text  has  many 
distinctive  marks  of  the  Northern  dialect.  One  of  the 
texts  of  the  *  Moral  Ode '  is  in  the  Midland  dialect,  while 
all  the  others  are  in  the  Southern. 


ROMANCES. 

ALL  nations  in  all  ages  have  been  fond  of  tales  of  wonder. 
Listeners  have  been  thrilled  with  delight  or  terror  at 
hearing  of  dragons  or  other  monsters,  of  giants  and 
enchanters,  of  magic  rings  and  swords,  and  of  heroes  who 
were  able  to  vanquish  whole  armies  of  common  men. 
The  French  minstrels,  the  troubadours,  composed  an 
abundance  of  such  tales,  and  sang  them  at  the  Courts  of 
our  Norman  kings.  Eleanor  of  Poitou,  the  wife  of 
Henry  II. ,  was  a  chief  patroness  of  these  minstrels,  and 
her  son,  Richard  L,  was  not  only  a  patron  but  a  trouba- 
dour himself. 

The  deeds  of  Charlemagne  and  his  twelve  peers,  of 
Roland  and  Einaldo  and  the  rest,  and  how  they  fought 
and  fell  at  Roncevalles,  were  the  subject  of  many  a  song ; 
and  we  are  told  that  at  Hastings  the  Norman  soldiers 
went  forward  to  the  attack  singing  the  '  Song  of  Roland.' 
King  Arthur  and  his  knights  of  the  Round  Table, 


ROMANCES  55 

Launcelot  of  the  Lake,  Sir  Tristrem,  Percival,  Gawayne, 
and  others,  were  equally  celebrated ;  and  then  a  little 
later  all  men  loved  to  hear  tales  of  the  East  and  of  the 
Crusaders.  *  Trebizonde  took  the  place  of  Koncevalles, 
and  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  Solyman,  Nouraddin,  the  caliphs, 
the  soldans,  and  the  cities  of  Egypt  and  Syria  became 
the  favourite  topics.' l  Even  old  English  stories  like 
*  Bevis  of  Hampton '  and  '  Guy  of  Warwick  '  were  trans- 
formed, and  the  heroes'  greatest  exploits  were  now 
wrought  in  the  Holy  Land. 

From  the  time  of  Edward  II.,  or  perhaps  earlier, 
many  of  these  romances  were  translated  into  English, 
and  it  may  be  interesting  to  give  a  few  extracts  from  the 
Romance  of  Richard  Cueur  de  Lyon,  which  appears 
to  have  been  a  favourite.  The  minstrel  first  tells  of 
Richard's  mother — who  is  not  the  Eleanor  of  Poitou  of 
history,  but  an  Eastern  princess  daughter  of  the  King 
of  Antioch.  No  one  less  was  worthy  to  be  the  mother 
of  such  a  hero.  We  are  told  that  Henry  II.  sent  out 
messengers  or  ambassadors — 

Into  many  dyverse  londes, 

The  feyreste  woman  that  was  on  liff 

Men  sholde  bringe  hym  to  wyff . 

On  their  voyage  they  meet  a  ship  as  splendid  as  that 
of  Cleopatra. 

Her  mast  was  of  yvory, 

Of  samyte  2  the  sayle  witterly,3 

Her  ropes  were  of  whyte  sylke 

Al  so  whyte  as  ony  mylk. 

That  noble  schyp  was  al  withoute 

With  clothys  of  golde  sprede  aboute. 

1  Warton.  ¥J  rich  silk.  3  wisely  (made). 


56         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

On  board  this  ship  was  a  king,  seated  in  a  chair  of 
carbuncle  stone,  and  with  him  his  beautiful  daughter, 
and  the  messengers  learnt  that,  prompted  by  a  vision, 
the  king  and  his  daughter  were  on  their  way  to  England 
to  seek  King  Henry.  They  accepted  the  omen  and 
said  : — 

Forther  wole  we  seke  nought ; 
To  my  lord  she  schal  be  brought. 

They  return  to  England,  and  the  lady  is  lodged  in  the 
Tower  of  London. 

The  messengers  the  kyng  have  tolde 
Of  that  ladye  fayr  and  bold  ; 
There  '  she  lay  in  the  Tour, 
The  ladye  that  was  whyt  as  floure. 

The  marriage  was  then  celebrated  at  Westminster  with 
great  splendour  and  rejoicing. 

When  Kichard  grew  to  be  a  man  his  first  great 
achievement  was  at  a  tournament  held  at  Salisbury. 
Then  he  prepared  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  his  battle- 
axe  is  described. 

Kyng  Bychard  I  understand 
Or 2  he  went  out  of  Englond 
Let  him  make  an  axe  for  the  nones 3 
To  breke  therwith  the  Sarasyns  bones. 
The  heed  was  wroght  right  wele, 
Therin  was  twenti  pounde  of  stele. 
And  the  pryson  when  he  cam  to 
With  his  ax  he  smot  ryght  thro 4 
Dores,  barres,  and  iron  chaynes. 

At  the  siege  of  Acre  the  axe  did  good  service.  The  foes 
had  stretched  a  massy  chain  across  the  entrance  to  the 
harbour. 

1  where.  2  ere  3  occasion.  •  eagerly. 


<  CURSOR  MUNDP  57 

Whan  Kyng  Kycharde  herde  that  tydinge 
For  joye  his  herte  bigan  to  sprynge, 
A  swythe  *  strong  galeye  he  toke, 
'  Trenchemere,'  so  saith  the  boke, 
The  galey  yede  -  as  swift 
As  ony  fowle  by  the  lyfte.3 
And  whan  he  com  to  the  chayne 
With  hys  ax  he  smot  it  a  twayne 
That  all  the  baronns  verament 4 
Sayde  it  was  a  noble  dent, 
And  for  joy  of  this  dede 
The  cuppes  fast  abouten  yede. 

The  minstrel  also  tells  of  the  siege  of  Babylon,  and 
how  the  Soldan  sought  to  overcome  Eichard  by  the  gift 
of  an  enchanted  steed,  and  how,  in  spite  of  all,  Kichard 
slew  the  Soldan  and  captured  the  city. 


NORTHUMBRIAN    LITERATURE   IN  THE   FOURTEENTH 
CENTURY. 

'  Cursor  Mundi.' — While  all  the  English  were  listen- 
ing eagerly  to  romances,  an  unnamed  poet  in  the  North 
oalled  their  attention  to  serious  things.  In  his  prologue 

he  says : — 

Men  lyken  jestis  for  to  here 
And  romans  rede  in  divers  manere, 
Of  Alexandre  the  conqueroure, 
Of  Julius  Cesar  the  emperoure, 
Of  Kyng  Artoure  that  was  so  riche 
Was  none  in  his  tyme  so  lyche.1 
Of  Trystrem  and  of  Ysoude  the  swete 
How  they  with  love  first  gan  mete. 

But  he  will  tell  them  something  better ;  and  in  a  long 

1  very.  2  went.  3  air.  4  truly.  &  like. 


58         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

poem  of  24,000  lines  he  travels  through  the  whole 
course  of  Bible  history,  beginning  with  the  creation  and 
the  fall  of  the  angels,  and  ending  with  a  description  of 
the  last  judgment.  The  work  became  popular  ;  there 
are  several  manuscript  copies  of  it  extant,  and  at  the 
head  of  one  of  them  is  written  :— 

This  is  the  best  boke  of  alle 

The  cours  of  the  werlde  men  dos  hit  calle. 

The  poet  draws  from  other  sources  besides  the  Bible; 
from  homilies,  legends,  and  apocryphal  scriptures,  and 
this  is  especially  the  case  when  he  is  treating  of  the 
childhood  of  Christ.  He  tells  us  that  when  Joseph  and 
Mary  were  fleeing  into  Egypt  they  rested  under  a  lofty 
palm,  and  Mary  looked  and  longed  for  the  fruit. 

Jesus  satt  on  his  moder  kne 

Wit  a  ful  With  cher  said  he, 

1  Bogh  '  bou  til  -  us  suith,3  bou  tre, 

And  of  H  frut  bou  give  us  plente.' 

Unnethe  4  had  he  said  be  sune  4 

Quen  be  tre  it  boghed  dune 

Eight  to  Maria,  his  moder,  fote 

pe  crop  6  was  evening  7  to  be  rote. 

Quen  all  had  eten  fruit  i-nogh 

Yeit  it  boghud  dun  ilk  bogh 

Til  he  wald  comand  it  to  rise 

pat  gert 8  it  lute  9  in  his  servis. 

To  bat  tre  ban  spak  Jesu : 

4  Kise  up,'  he  said,  •  and  right  be  nu, 

I  will  bou,  fra  nu  forward, 

Be  planted  in  min  orcherd 

Amang  mi  tres  o  paradise 

pat  bou  and  bai  be  of  a  prise.' 10 


1  bow.  2  to.  3  quickly.  4  scarcely. 

5  son.  r>  top.  7  equal.  8  made. 

9  stoop.  lo  be  of  one  value. 


METRICAL  HOMILIES  59 

Metrical  Homilies.— To  the  same  period,  the  first 
half  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  to  the  same  part  of 
the  country,  belongs  a  cycle  of  metrical  homilies  for  all 
the  Sundays  in  the  year.  They  are  somewhat  similar  in 
plan  to  the  *  Ormulum ' :  the  writer  first  paraphrases  the 
Gospel  for  the  day,  then  he  gives  an  explanation  of  the 
hidden  meaning  of  the  passage,  and  then  he  adds  some 
pious  story  from  the  Bible,  or  from  monkish  legends,  to 
impress  on  the  minds  of  his  hearers  the  lesson  he  has 
been  teaching. 

The  homily  for  the  third  Sunday  after  the  Epiphany 
begins  thus : — 

Sain  Matheu  the  wangeliste 
Telles  us  todai,  hou  Crist 
Schipped  into  the  se  a  time 
And  his  decipelis  al  wit  him. 
And  quen  thair  schip  com  on  dep, 
Jesu  selven  fel  on  slep, 
And  gret  tempest  bigan  to  rise, 
That  gert l  the  schipmen  sar  2  grise.3 
Thai  wakned  Crist,  and  said  yare  4 
1  Help  us,  Lauerd,  for  we  forfare.' 5 
And  Crist,  als  mihti  Godd,  ansuerd 
And  said,  '  Foles,  qui 6  er  ye  fered  ?  ' 
.  And  Crist  comanded  wind  and  se 
To  lethe,7  and  fair  weder  to  be. 
And  sa  fair  weder  was  in  hie 
That  all  his  felaues  thoht  ferlie,8 
And  said,  '  Quatkin 9  man  mai  this  be  ? 
Til  him  bues  10  bathe  winde  and  se.' 
This  es  the  strenthe  of  our  godspelle 
Als  man  on  Ingelis  tong  mai  telle. 


1  caused. 

2  sorely. 

3  fear. 

4  soon. 

5  perish. 

6  why. 

7  calm. 

8  wonder. 

9  what  kind. 

10  belongs 

60         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  Hermit  of  Hampole. — Kichard  Rolle  was  born 
in  Yorkshire  about  1290,  was  educated  at  Oxford,  and  at 
the  age  of  nineteen  or  twenty  he  determined  to  forsake 
the  world  and  turn  hermit.  He  preached  sometimes, 
and  moved  his  hearers  to  tears ;  he  was  unwearied  in 
praying  and  writing,  and  he  was  believed  to  have  the 
power  to  heal  the  sick  and  cast  out  devils.  He  lived  in 
various  spots  in  Yorkshire,  and  ended  his  days  in  1349 
at  Hampole,  near  Doncaster.  He  wrote  several  religious 
works,  but  the  chief  is  a  poem  of  nearly  10,000  lines, 
and  in  seven  books,  called  the  '  Pricke  of  Conscience.' 
In  it  he  treats  of  man's  life,  its  sorrows  and  perils ;  of 
death ;  of  purgatory ;  of  the  pains  of  hell,  and  the  joys 
of  heaven. 

Some  parts  of  the  poem  are  very  fanciful.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  helplessness  of  infancy,  he  says  :— 

For  J>an  may  he  noght  stande  ne  crepe 

Bot  ligge  '  and  sprawel,  and  cry  and  wepe. 

For  unnethes 2  es  a  child  born  fully 

pat  it  ne  bygynnes  to  goule  *  and  cry ; 

And  by  |>at  cry  men  may  knaw  ban 

Whether  it  be  man  or  weman, 

For  when  it  es  born  it  cryes  swa 4 ; 

If  it  be  man,  it  says  '  a,  a,' 

pat  }>e  first  letter  es  of  be  nam 

Of  our  forme -fader 5  Adam. 

And  if  t>e  child  a  woman  be 

When  it  es  born  it  says  '  e,  e.' 

E  es  \>e  first  letter  and  >e  hede 

Of  t>e  name  of  Eve  }>at  bygan  our  dede. 

He  says  that  man  in  his  body  is  like  a  tree. 

A  man  es  a  tre,  >at  standes  noght  hard 
Of  whilk  J>e  crop  es  turned  donward, 

1  lie.        -  scarcely.        3  howl.        4  so.        5  first -father. 


ROBERT  OF  BOURNE  61 

And  be  rcte  toward  be  firmament, 

Als  says  j>e  grete  clerk  Innocent. 

He  says, '  What  es  man  in  shap  bot  a  tre 

Turned  up  bat  es  doun,  als  men  may  se  ? 

Of  whilk  >e  rotes,  bat  of  it  springes 

Er  be  hares  bat  on  be  heved l  hyngea  2 : 

pe  stok,  nest 3  be  rot  growand, 

Es  be  heved  with  nek  folowand; 

pe  body  of  bat  tre  barby 

Es  be  brest  with  be  bely  ; 

pe  bughes  er  be  armes  with  \>e  handes, 

And  be  legges,  with  be  fete  bat  standes  ; 

pe  brannches  men  may  by  skille  calle 

pe  tas 4  and  be  fyngers  alle.' 


ROBERT  OF  BOURNE. 

In  the  early  years  of  the  fourteenth  century  a  poem  was 
written  which  is  peculiarly  interesting.  Its  author, 
Robert  Manning,  has  been  called  the  '  Patriarch  of  the 
New  English,  much  as  Caedmon  was  of  the  Old  English 
six  hundred  years  earlier.'  For  among  the  conflicting 
dialects  which  were  striving  for  supremacy,  the  East 
Midland  (the  language  of  Northampton  and  Lincoln)  was 
destined  to  overcome  and  supersede  the  others.  Man- 
ning was  born  at  Bourne,  in  Lincolnshire,  about  1260, 
and  became  a  member  of  the  Gilbertine  monastery  of 
Sempringham,  a  few  miles  away  from  his  native  place. 
There  he  lived  many  years.  He  says  : — 

Y  dwelled  yn  be  pryorye 
Fyftene  3ere  yn  cumpanye 
In  be  tyme  of  gode  Dane  lone 
Of  Camelton  bat  now  ys  gone. 

1  head.  2  hangs.  8  nearest.  *  toes. 


62         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 
Other  persons  also  had  he  known,  and- 

Dane  Felyp  was  maystyr  bat  tyme, 

pat  y  began  bys  Englysshe  ryme, 

pe  jeres  of  grace  fyl  ban  to  be 

A  bousynd  and  bre  hundred  and  bre. 

In  bat  tyme  turnede  y  thys 

On  Englysshe  tunge  out  of  Frankys, 

Of  a  boke  as  y  fonde  ynne 

Men  clepyn  '  be  boke  '  Handlyng  Synne.' 

The  French  book  of  which  Manning's  was  a  transla- 
tion was  the  '  Manuel  des  Peches '  written  by  William  of 
Waddington,  a  monk  of  a  Yorkshire  monastery.  It 
treated  of  the  Ten  Commandments,  the  seven  deadly 
sins,  the  seven  sacraments,  and  other  matters  of  like 
nature,  and  it  endeavoured  by  means  of  precepts  and 
anecdotes  to  win  men  from  evil  to  good.  But  Manning's 
work  was  much  more  than  a  mere  translation,  for  he 
altered  much  in  his  original  and  added  many  new  anec- 
dotes. One  of  these  is  concerning  the  famous  Eobert 
Grosteste,  Bishop  of  Lincoln. 

Y  shal  3ow  telle  as  y  have  herde 
Of  be  bysshope  seynt  Roberde 
Hys  toname  -  ys  Grostest 
Of  Lynkolne,  so  seyb  be  gest. 
He  lovede  moche  to  here  \>e  harpe 
For  mannys  wytte  hyt  makyb  sharpe. 
Next  hys  chaumber,  besyde  his  stody, 
Hys  harpers  chaumbre  was  fast  >erby. 
Many  tymes,  be  ny^tys  and  dayys 
He  hade  solace  of  notes  and  layys. 
One  askede  hym  onys  resun  why 
He  hadde  delyte  in  mynstralsy  ? 
He  answered  hym  on  bys  manere 
Why  he  helde  be  harper  so  dere. 

1  call.  a  second  name. 


ROBERT  OF  BOURNE  63 

pe  vertu  of  J>e  harpe,  J>urghe  skylle  and  ryjt 
Wyl  destroye  >e  fendes  my^t ; 
And  to  J>e  croys  !  by  gode  skylle 
Ys  \>e  harpe  lykened  weyle. 
Tharefor,  god  men,  36  shul  lere, 
Whan  36  any  glemen  here 
To  wurschep  Gode  at  3oure  powere 
As  Davyde  seyh  yn  J>e  sautere 2 
Yn  harpe  yn  babour  and  symphan  gle 
Wurschepe  Gode  yn  troumpes  and  sautre 
Yn  cordys,  an  organes  and  belly s  ryngyng, 
Yn  al  J?ese  wurschepe  36  hevene  kyng. 

Eobert  of  Bourne  has  been  likened  to  Chaucer,  not 
in  genius  (for  of  that  he  had  little),  but  in  his  cheerful 
nature,  and  in  his  desire  to  write  in  a  simple  style 
that  simple  men  might  understand  him.  He  says  :— 

For  lewde  men  y  undyrtoke 

On  Englysshe  tunge  to  make  )>ys  boke ; 

For  many  ben  of  swyche  manere 

pat  talys 3  and  rymys 4  wyl  ble>ly  5  here. 

And  he  dedicates  his  work — 

To  alle  Crystyn  men  undir  sunne, 
And  to  gode  men  of  Brunne  ; 
And  special!  alle  be  name 
The  felaushepe  of  Symprynghame. 

Some  twenty  years  later  Kobert,  while  living  in  an- 
other Gilbertine  monastery,  at  Sixhille  in  Lincolnshire, 
wrote  a  longer  work,  the  '  Chronicle  of  England.'  In  the 
first  part  (from  ^Eneas  to  Cadwallader),  he  translates 
Wace  as  La3amon  and  Eobert  of  Gloucester  had  already 
done,  and  in  the  second  part,  which  reaches  to  the  death 
of  Edward  I.,  he  translates  a  French  metrical  Chronicle 
written  by  Peter  Langtoft  of  the  monastery  of  Bridling- 
ton. 

1  cross.        2  Psalter.        3  tales.        4  rhymes.        s  blithely. 


64        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


ENGLISH    PROSE  WRITERS   OF  THE 

FOURTEENTH   CENTURY. 

FROM  the  Conquest  for  three  centuries  onwards, 
English  as  a  literary  language  is  for  the  most  part  re- 
presented by  ballads,  metrical  tales,  metrical  homilies, 
and  works  of  similar  character.  During  that  time 
there  is  no  work  which  we  can  compare  with  the  simple 
but  noble  prose  of  King  Alfred,  or  ^Elfric,  or  some  of  the 
writers  of  the  Saxon  Chronicle.  The  cultured  prose  of 
that  period  was  Latin,  but  the  victory  of  English  over 
both  Latin  and  French  was  becoming  yearly  more 
assured,  and  there  were  in  the  fourteenth  century  at 
least  three  prose  writers  of  whom  we  must  speak.  Two 
of  them,  Mandeville  and  Wyclif,  wrote  in  the  Midland 
dialect,  which  was  now  rapidly  asserting  its  pre-eminence  ; 
the  third,  John  of  Trevisa,  wrote  in  the  Western  or 
Southern  dialect,  which  was  more  akin  to  the  tongue  of 
Wessex  and  King  Alfred. 

Mandeville. — '  The  Voiage  and  Travaile  of  Sir  John 
Mandeville  '  was  one  of  the  most  popular  books  of  the 
middle  ages  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  no  romance  of  Arthur 
or  Charlemagne  is  more  thickly  strewn  with  marvels. 
Of  the  writer's  life  little  is  known  with  certainty.  He 
was  born  at  St.  Albans  about  1300,  started  on  his  travels 
in  1322,  returned  in  1356,  and  it  is  said  that  he  died  in 
1371  and  was  buried  in  Liege. 

In  his  prologue  he  tells  us  he  wrote  his  book  *  specy- 
ally  for  hem,1  that  wylle  and  are  in  purpos  for  to  visite  the 
holy  citee  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  holy  places  that  are 

1  them. 


PROSE    WRITERS:  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY    65 

thereaboute.'  '  And  366  schulle  undirstonde  that  I  have 
put  this  boke  out  of  Latyn  into  Frensch,  and  translated 
it  a3en  out  of  Frensch  into  Englyssch,  that  every  man 
of  my  nacioun  may  undirstonde  it.' 

The  good  knight  was  grieved  that  'the  holy  lond, 
the  lady  and  sovereyn  of  alle  othere  londes,'  should  be 
in  the  hands  of  heathen  men,  and  he  longed  for  a  new 
Crusade.  *3if  wee  ben  right  children  of  Crist  wee 
oughte  for  to  chalenge  the  heritage  that  oure  fader 
laffce  us,  and  do  it  out  of  hethene  mennes  hondes.' 
*  Wolde  God,  that  the  temporel  lordes  and  alle  worldly 
lordes  weren  at  gode  accord,  and  with  the  comen  peple 
woulden  taken  this  holy  viage  over  the  see.' 

But  the  Travels  contain  much  more  than  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  Holy  Land.  Babylon,  Tartary,  Cathay  and 
Isles  innumerable  are  described,  and  even  Paradise. 
'  Of  Paradys  ne  can  not  I  speken  propurly,  for  I  was  not 
there.  It  is  fer  be3onde,  and  also  I  was  not  worthi. 
Paradys  terrestre,  as  wise  men  seyn,  is  the  highest  place 
of  Erthe,  and  it  is  so  highe  that  it  touchethe  nyghe  to 
the  cercle  of  the  Mone.  And  this  Paradys  is  enclosed 
all  aboute  with  a  Walle,  and  men  wyte  not  whereof  it 
is.  For  the  Walles  ben  covered  all  over  with  mosse  as 
it  semethe.' 

But  even  of  the  places  where  Mandeville  was  really 
present  he  gives  us  marvellous  accounts.  In  the  deserts 
of  Sinai  he  visited  St.  Catherine's  monastery,  and  he 
tells  us : — 

There  is  the  Chirche  of  Seynte  Kateryne,  in  the  whiche  ben  manye 
Lampes  brennynge.1    For  thei  han  2  of  Oyle  of  Olyves  ynow  bothefor  to 

1  burning.  2  have. 


66        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

brenne  in  here  Lampes  and  to  ete  also.  And  that  plentee  have  thei  be 
the  Myracle  of  God.  For  the  Ravenes  and  the  Crowes  and  the  Choughes 
and  other  Foules  of  the  Contree  assemblen  hem  there  every  3eer  ones, 
and  fleen  thider  as  in  pilgrymage ;  and  everyche  of  hem  bringethe  a 
Braunche  of  the  Bayes  or  of  Olyve  in  here  Bekes  in  stede  of  Offyring, 
and  leven  hem  there ;  of  the  whiche  the  Monkes  maken  gret  plentee 
of  Oyle  and  this  is  a  gret  Marvaylle.  Also  whan  the  Prelate  of  the  Ab- 
beye-is  dead,  I  have  undirstonden  be  informacioun  that  his  Lampe 
quenchethe.  And  whan  thei  chesen  '  another  Prelate,  $if  he  be  a  gode 
Man  and  worthi  to  be  Prelate,  his  Lampe  schal  lighte  with  the  Grace  of 
God  withouten  touchinge  of  ony  Man. 

Mandeville  often  leaves  us  in  doubt  whether  he  is 
speaking  of  what  he  has  seen  or  of  what  he  has  heard 
only.  In  the  earlier  years  of  the  century  Marco  Polo 
had  visited  Tartary,  and  Oderic,  a  Franciscan  friar,  had 
journeyed  into  India  and  China,  and  Mandeville  made 
use  of  their  narratives.  Indeed,  it  is  possible  that  his 
own  travels  extended  no  farther  east  than  to  Syria  and 
Arabia. 

Pliny's  great  book  of  Natural  History  also  furnished 
him  with  many  wonderful  stories,  such  as  the  following 
concerning — 

The  Lond  of  Pigmaus  where  that  the  folk  ben  of  litylle  Stature, 
that  ben  -  but  3  Span  long,  and  thei  ben  right  faire  and  gentylle.  And 
thei  maryen 3  hem  whan  thei  ben  half  ^ere  of  age  and  geten  Children. 
And  thei  lyven  not  but  6  jeer  or  7  at  the  moste.  And  he  that  lyvethe  8 
3eer  men  holden  him  there  righte  passynge  old. 

Wyclif. — JohnWyclif  was  born  about  1320,  at  '  Spres- 
well,  a  poore  village  a  good  myle  from  Eichemont '  in 
Yorkshire.  So  tradition  tells,  and  of  his  birth  and  family 
circumstances  we  know  no  more.  He  went  in  due  course 
to  Oxford,  and  became  the  foremost  scholar  of  the  Uni- 
versity. He  devoted  himself  to  the  study,  not  only  of 
1  choose.  2  are.  3  marry. 


PROSE    WRITERS:  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY    67 

theology,  but  also  of  optics  and  other  branches  of  physi- 
cal science,  as  Eoger  Bacon  had  done  before  him.  In 
1360  he  was  Master  of  Baliol,  and  in  1365  Warden  of 
Canterbury  Hall,  but  this  honour  he  soon  lost  in  conse- 
quence of  his  bold  attacks  upon  the  evils  of  the  times. 

The  clergy  were  sunk  in  sloth  and  luxury,  they  fed 
themselves  and  not  their  flocks,  and  Wyclif  believed 
that  no  reform  would  avail  except  to  strip  them  of  their 
riches.  Even  the  great  orders  of  mendicant  friars,  the 
Dominicans  and  Franciscans,  who  had  laboured  so  un- 
weariedly  in  their  first  age,  were  now  become  corrupt, 
and  they  were  denounced  by  Wyclif,  and  in  return  they 
became  his  bitterest  opponents. 

At  this  time  also  occurred  the  scandal  of  the  rival 
Popes  of  Kome  and  Avignon,  and  Wyclif  was  led  to 
believe  that  Christendom  could  do  well  without  a  Pope. 
Some  of  the  richest  English  benefices  were  held  by 
Italian  cardinals  and  priests,  of  whom  it  was  said,  '  they 
neither  see  nor  care  to  see  their  parishioners,  despise 
God's  services,  convey  away  the  treasury  of  the  realm, 
and  are  worse  than  Jews  or  Saracens.' 

More  than  once  Wyclif  was  summoned  to  answer 
for  his  teaching.  In  1377  he  appeared  before  the  Bishop 
of  London  in  old  St.  Paul's,  and  the  mob  were  against 
him  and  ready  to  tear  him  in  pieces,  but  he  was  accom- 
panied and  defended  by  John  of  Gaunt,  King  Edward's 
son.  A  little  later  he  appeared  again  at  Lambeth  Palace, 
but  this  time  the  common  people  were  on  his  side  and 
his  enemies  could  do  nothing  against  him.  In  the  latter 
years  of  his  life  he  retired  to  his  parish  of  Lutterworth, 
and  devoted  himself  to  two  great  and  good  works,  the 

F2 


68         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

translation  of  the  Bible,  and  the  training  and  sending 
forth  his  order  of  poor  priests  to  teach  and  preach 
throughout  the  land.  His  friends  and  disciples  were 
expelled  from  Oxford,  and  he  himself  was  summoned  to 
Rome,  but  he  died  of  paralysis  in  December  1384.  The 
spirit  of  his  teaching  passed  over  to  the  Continent  and 
inspired  Huss  and  his  followers  in  Bohemia.  Thirty 
years  later  the  Council  of  Constance  condemned  Huss  to 
be  burnt,  and  ordered  that  Wyclif  s  body  should  be  dug 
up  and  also  burnt.  The  ashes  were  cast  into  the  Swift, 
which  runs  by  Lutterworth.  *  The  brook  did  convey  his 
ashes  to  the  Avon ;  Avon  into  Severn  ;  Severn  into  the 
narrow  seas ;  they  into  the  main  ocean ;  and  thus  the 
ashes  of  Wyclif  were  an  emblem  of  his  doctrine  which  is 
now  dispersed  all  the  world  over.' l 

Wyclif  s  literary  works  were  very  numerous.  His 
greatest  is  a  Latin  one,  '  De  Dominio  Divino ; '  but 
the  one  by  which  he  will  chiefly  be  remembered  is 
the  translation  of  the  Bible.  How  much  of  it  is  the 
work  of  his  own  pen  it  is  impossible  to  tell,  but  there  is 
no  doubt  that  he  was  the  animating  and  controlling 
spirit  in  the  execution  of  this  noble  work. 

The  following  extract  is  from  Mark's  account  of  the 
death  of  John  the  Baptist. 

Eroude  in  his  birthe-day  made  a  soupere  to  the  princis,  and  tri- 
bunys,  and  to  the  firste  of  Galilee.  And  whanne  the  dorter  of  thilke 
Erodias  hadde  entrid  yn,  and  lepte,  and  pleside  to  Eroude,  and  also  to 
men  restynge,  the  kyng  seide  to  the  wenche,  '  Axe  thou  of  me  what 
thou  wolt,  and  I  schal  3yve  to  thee.'  And  he  swoor  to  hir,  'For  what- 
evere  thou  schalt  axe,  I  schal  3yve  to  thee  thouj  the  half  of  my  kingdom.' 
The  whiche,  whanne  sche  hadde  gon  out,  seide  to  hir  modir,  'What 

1  Fuller. 


PROSE    WRITERS:  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY    69 

schal  I  axe?'  And  she  seide,  'The  heed  of  John  Baptist.'  And 
whanne  she  hadde  entrid  anon  with  haste  to  the  kyng  she  axide  seyinge, 
'  I  wole  that  anoon  thou  ^yve  to  me  in  a  dische  the  heed  of  John  Bap- 
tist.' And  the  kyng  was  sory  for  the  ooth,  and  for  men  sittinge  to. 
gidere  at  mete  he  wolde  not  hir  be  maad  sory ;  but,  a  manquellere  1  sent, 
he  comaundide  the  heed  of  John  Baptist  for  to  be  brought.  And  he 
bihedide  him  in  the  prison,  and  brou3te  his  heed  in  a  dische,  and  3af  it 
to  the  wenche,  and  the  wenche  $af  it  to  hir  modir.' 

John  of  Trevisa. — Kanulf  Higden,  a  monk  of  St. 
Werburgh's  monastery  in  Chester,  wrote  a  Latin  Chron- 
icle of  the  world's  history  which  became  immensely 
popular  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  More 
than  a  hundred  manuscripts  of  the  Latin  still  exist,  and 
the  work  was  quickly  translated  into  English,  and  it  was 
one  of  the  earliest  books  to  be  issued  from  our  printing 
presses.  The  author  divided  his  work  into  seven  books, 
parting,  as  he  said,  the  great  river  of  universal  history 
into  seven  streams,  so  that  readers  might  go  over  dry 
shod. 

The  first  book  is  a  geographical  sketch  of  the  world,  j 
and  of  its  sixty  chapters  twenty-two  are  devoted  to 
England,  and  seven  others  to  Ireland,  Wales  and  Scot- 
land. Great  use  is  made  of  the  works  of  Bede,  Giraldus 
Cambrensis  and  William  of  Malmesbury,  but  the  author 
added  much  interesting  information  from  his  own  stores, 
and  he  brought  the  narrative  down  nearly  to  his  own 
day.  He  lived  to  a  very  great  age,  and  died  in  1363. 

In  1387  an  English  translation  was  issued  by  John 
of  Trevisa.  The  translator  was  a  Cornishman,  was 
vicar  of  Berkeley,  and  he  spoke  and  wrote  the  west 
country  dialect,  which  had  been  used  by  Robert  of 
Gloucester.  He  executed  the  translation  for  his  patron, 
1  executioner. 


70         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Thomas  Lord  Berkeley,  who,  in  the  introduction,  is  re- 
presented as  urging  him  to  the  work  and  saying  :— 

Though  I  can  speke,  rede,  and  understande  Latyn,  there  is  moche 
Latyn  in  these  bookes  of  Cronykes  that  I  can  not  understande,  neither 
thou  without  studyeng,  avisement,1  and  lokyng  of  other  bookes. 

The  author  takes  pleasure  in  describing  the  wonders 
of  Britain.  He  says  :— 

Yn  he  contray  aboute  Wynchestre  ys  a  den ;  out  of  hat  den  alwey 
bloweh  a  strong  wynd,  so  hat  no  man  may  endure  for  to  stonde  to-for 
hat  den.  par  is  also  a  pond  hat  turneh  tre  into  yre,2  and  hyt  be  her-ynne 
al  a  3er ;  and  so  tren 8  buh 4  yschape  into  whetstones.  Also  her  ys  yn  he 
cop  *  of  an  hul  a  buryel 6 ;  everych  man  hat  comeh  and  mete)> 7  hat  buriel, 
a  schal  fynde  hyt  evene  ryjt  of  his  oune  meete  ;  and  $ef  a  pylgrym  oher 
eny  wery  man  kneoleh  her- to,  anon  a  schal  be  al  fresch,  and  of  werynes 
schal  he  feele  non  nuy.8 

He  regards  it  as  a  mark  of  God's  signal  favour  that 
the  bodies  of  saints  remained  uncorrupted  in  English 
soil. 

Tak  heede  houj  gret  Iy3t  and  bry3tnes  of  God  hys  myldenes9  ha)> 
byschyne  Englysche  men ;  so  hat  of  no  men  buh  yf ounde  so  meny  hole 
bodies  of  men  after  here  deeh  yn  lyknes  of  everlasting  lif  hat  schal  be 
after  )>e  day  of  doom ;  as  hyt  wel  semeh  in  his  holy  seintes,  Etheldred, 
Edmund  he  kyng,  Elphege,  and  Cuthbert. 

t  The  various  dialects  spoken  in  England  engaged  the 

writer's  attention,  and  he  thus  speaks  of  the  three 
great  dialects  of  Northern,  Southern  and  Central  Eng- 
land. 

Men  of  he  est  wih  men  of  he  west,  as  hyt  were  undur  he  same  party 
of  hevene,  acordeh  more  in  sounyng  of  speche  b&n  men  of  he  norh  wih 
men  of  J>e  sou> ;  )>er-fore  hyt  ys  t>at  Mercii,  hat  bu>  men  of  myddel  Enge- 
lond  as  hyt  were  parteners  of  J>e  endes,  undurstondeh  betre  he  syde 

1  consideration.          2  iron.          s  trees.          *  are.          5  top. 
6  tomb.        7  measures.        8  suffering.        B  God's  mildness. 


*  PIERS  PLOWMAN^  71 

longages,  Norheron  and  Souheron,  han  Norheron  and  Souheron  under- 
stondeh  eyher  o>er. 

Al  he  longage  of  he  Norjmmbres,  and  specialych  at  5ork,  is  so  scharp, 
andunschape,1  hat  we  Souheron  men  may  hat  longage  unnehe2  undurstonde. 
Y  trowe  hat  hat  ys  bycause  hat  a  buh  ny3  to  strange  men  and  aliens  hat 
spekeh  strangelych,  and  also  bycause  hat  he  kynges  of  Engelond  woneh 
alwey  fer  f ram  hat  contray  ;  for  a  buh  more  yturnd  to  he  souh  contray ; 
and  $ef  a  goh  to  he  norh  contray,  a  goh  wih  gret  help  and  strengthe.  f>e 
cause  why  a  buh  more  in  he  souh  contray  han  in  he  norh  may  be,  betre 
cornlond,  more  people,  more  noble  cytes,  and  more  prof y table  havenes. 


'  PIERS   PLOWMAN.' 

William  Langland. — The  long  reign  of  Edward  III. 
was  one  of  mingled  glory  and  shame.  Great  battles 
were  won,  captive  kings  were  brought  home  to  London, 
magnificent  tournaments  were  held,  and  Edward  and 
his  son  were  justly  regarded  as  two  of  the  most  renowned 
knights  in  Europe.  But  the  struggle  between  France 
and  England  was  barren  and  exhausting.  The  nobles 
and  clergy  lived  in  luxury,  but  the  miserable  peasantry 
were  oppressed  with  innumerable  exactions  until  at  last 
they  rose  in  revolt  in  both  countries.  Terrible  pesti- 
lences, too,  swept  over  the  land,  carrying  off  a  half  of  the 
people,  and  earnest  men  could  not  but  regard  these  as 
scourges  from  the  hand  of  God. 

Among  these  earnest  men  was  the  writer  of  the 
'  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman.'  Little  is  known  of  him 
— not  even  his  name  with  certainty.  Sometimes  he  is 
called  Kobert  and  sometimes  William  Langland,  and 
there  are  grounds  for  thinking  the  latter  name  should 

1  rough.  2  scarcely. 


72         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

rather  be  Langley.  He  was  born  about  1332,  and,  it  is 
thought,  at  Cleobury  Mortimer,  in  Shropshire,  though 
Shipton-under-Wychwood,  in  Oxfordshire,  is  also  men- 
tioned as  his  birthplace.  In  his  poem  the  Malvern 
Hills  are  mentioned  several  times,  and  it  is  thought  pro- 
bable that  he  received  his  education  in  the  monastery  of 
Great  Malvern.  From  other  scattered  allusions  in  his 
poem,  it  is  thought  he  took  minor  orders  in  the  Church 
and  remained  always  miserably  poor. 

He  was  married,  and  probably  at  about  the  age  of 
thirty  he  came  to  London  and  lived  on  Cornhill  with 
his  wife  Kitte  and  his  daughter  Calote.  He  was  tall  and 
gaunt ;  men  called  him  *  Long  Will,'  and  for  many 
years  he  gazed  with  a  stern  sad  face  on  the  riot  and 
wretchedness,  the  grandeur  and  misery  of  London ;  and 
he  died  at  about  the  close  of  the  century. 

Of  his  great  poem  there  are  very  many  manuscripts 
existing,  and  there  appear  to  have  been  three  separate 
editions.  The  earliest  and  shortest  was  probably  finished 
about  1362  ;  then  about  1377  the  poet  greatly  expanded 
the  work,  and  about  1390  he  again  still  further  extended 
it. 

The  work  consists  of  a  series  of  visions.  The  poet 
falls  asleep  and  has  wonderful  dreams  ;  the  Vices  and 
Virtues,  Conscience,  Eeason,  Holy  Church,  and  a  host  of 
other  allegorical  personages  appear  and  act  and  speak, 
and  in  this  respect  we  may  call  Langland  an  earlier 
Bunyan. 

In  the  language  of  the  poem  we  find  nearly  as  many 
Norman-French  words  as  in  Chaucer,  and  this  proves 
that  French  had  entered  very  largely  into  the  everyday 


'PIERS  PLOWMAN'  73 

speech  of  England ;  but  the  poet  discarded  the  popular 
French  fashion  of  rhyme,  and  fell  back  on  the  Old  Eng- 
lish plan  of  alliteration. 

The  opening  lines  show  the  alliteration  very  distinctly, 
but  it  is  steadily  maintained  through  the  thousands  of 
lines  of  the  poem. 

In  a  somer  seson  •  whan  soft  was  the  sonne 

I  s/zope  '  me  in  sfrroudes  2  •  as  I  a  sftepe 3  were, 

In  ^abite  as  an  ^eremite  •  unholy  of  workes 

TFent  wyde  in  }>is  world  •  wondres  to  here 

Ac  on  a  May  wornynge  •  on  Malverne  hulles 

Me  by./el  a  /erly  4  •  of  /airy  me  thoi^te 

I  was  wery  forwandred  •  and  went  me  to  reste 

Under  a  6rode  frank  •  bi  a  fcornes 5  side, 

And  as  I  Zay  and  Zened  •  and  Zoked  in  J?e  wateres 

I  slombred  in.  a  slepyng  •  it  sweyved 6  so  merye. 

The  poet  in  his  dream  saw  a  tower,  the  abode  of 
Truth,  on  a  lofty  hill,  and  opposite,  in  a  deep  valley,  a 
dark  dungeon,  the  abode  of  Error,  and  between  these  two 
he  saw  a  whole  world  of  busy  mortals.  Among  them 
were  the  peasants  whom  Langland  had  loved  and  pitied. 

Some  putten  hem  to  J>e  plow  •  pleyed  ful  selde 

In  settyng  and  in  sowyng  •  swonken  7  ful  harde 

And  wonnen  that  wastours  •  with  glotonye  destruyeth. 

There  were  also  the  lazy  dissolute  friars,  whom  he 
detested. 

Heremites  on  an  heep  •  with  hoked  staves 
Wenten  to  Walsyngham  •  and  here 8  wenches  after ; 
Grete  lobyes  °  and  longe  •  that  loth  were  to  swynke, 
Clotheden  hem  in  copis  •  to  ben  knowen  fram  othere ; 
And  shopen  hem  heremites  •  here  ese  to  have. 

The  shameless  seller  of  indulgences  was  also  there. 

1  arrayed.        -  rough  garments.         3  shepherd.        4  wonder. 
5  brook.        6  sounded.        7  laboured.        8  their.        9  lubbers. 


74        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

pere  preched  a  Pardonere  •  as  he  a  prest  were 

Broujte  forth  a  bulle  •  with  bishopes  seles, 

And  seide  hat  hymself  my^te  •  assoilen  *  hem  alle. 

Lewed 2  men  leved 3  hym  wel  •  and  lyked  his  wordes 

Comen  up  knelyng  •  to  kisstfn  his  bulles. 

Thus  hey  geven  here  golde  •  glotones  to  kepe. 

The  poet  also  saw  a  king  appear,  probably  the  young 
King  Richard  II.  from  whom  so  much  was  hoped  and 
expected  by  Langland  and  other  earnest  reformers. 

panne  come  here  a  king  •  kny;thod  hym  ladde, 
Mi;t  of  he  comunes  •  made  hym  to  regne, 
And  hanne  cam  kynde  wytte  •  and  clerkes  he  made, 
For  to  conseille  he  kyng  •  and  he  comune  save. 

Then  the  poet  sees  a  strange  figure,  which  is  probably 
meant  for  himself. 

panne  loked  up  a  lunatik  •  a  lene  Hng  with-alle 
And  knelyng  to  he  kyng  •  clergealy  4  he  seyde, 
4  Crist  kepe  he,  sire  kyng  •  and  \>i  kyngriche  6 
And  leve 6  he  lede  J>i  londe  •  so  leute  he  lovye 
And  for  hi  ri3tful  rewlyng  •  be  rewarded  in  hevene.' 

As  the  poet  still  lay  sleeping  a  beautiful  lady,  Holy 
Church,  came  to  him  and  complained  that  so  few  would 
listen  to  her  teaching. 

panne  I  courbed  "  on  my  knees  •  and  cryed  hir  of  grace 

And  preyed  hir  pitousely  •  prey  for  my  synnes. 

'  Teche  me  to  no  tresore  •  but  tell  me  his  ilke 

How  I  may  save  my  soule  •  hat  seynt  art  yh olden.' 

4  Whan  alle  tresores  aren  tried  '  •  quod  she,  trewthe  is  he  best, 

Who-so  is  trewe  of  his  tonge  •  and  telleth  none  other 

And  doth  he  werkis  her  with  •  and  wilneth  no  man  ille 

He  is  a  god  bi  he  gospel  •  agrounde  and  aloft. 

And  ylike  to  owre  lorde  •  bi  seynte  lukes  wordes. 

The  poet  then  begged  that,  having  learned  the  truth, 

1  absolve.        -  simple.         s  believed.        *  in  a  clerkly  manner. 
5  kingdom.  6  grant.  7  knelt. 


'PIERS  PLOWMAN*  75 

he  may  also  know  the  false,  and  so  shun  it ;  and  his 
request  is  granted. 

I  loked  on  my  left  half  •  as  )>e  lady  me  taughte 

And  was  war  '  of  a  womman  •  wortheli  y clothed, 

Purfiled 2  with  pelure 3  •  he  finest  upon  erthe 

Y-crounede  with  a  corone  •  J?e  kyng  hath  non  better ; 

Fetislich 4  hir  fyngres  •  were  fretted  with  golde  wyre 

And  J>ereon  red  rubyes  •  as  red  as  any  glede, 5 

And  diamantz  of  derrest  pris  *  and  double  manere  safferes ; 

Hire  robe  was  ful  riche  •  of  red  scarlet  engreyned 

With  ribanes  of  red  golde  •  and  of  riche  stones ; 

Hire  arraye  me  ravysshed  •  suche  ricchesse  saw  I  nevere  *, 

I  had  wondre  what  she  was  •  and  whas  wyf  she  were. 

This  fine  lady  was  Mede  or  Bribery,  and  we  can  hardly 
doubt  that  the  poet  had  in  his  mind  the  notorious 
Alice  Ferrers,  who  beguiled  King  Edward  in  his  latter 
years ;  who  obtained  and  wore  the  jewels  of  good  Queen 
Philippa ;  and  who  in  1376  was  denounced  in  Parliament 
as  one  who  by  her  influence  with  the  king  perverted  the 
course  of  justice. 

The  poet  tells  us  that  Lady  Mede  came  to  London  to 
be  married  to  Falsehood,  and  she  was  received  with  all 
honour  at  court. 

They  }>at  wonyeth 6  in  Westmynstre  •  worschiped  hir  alle  ; 

Gentiliche  with  joye  •  the  Justices  somme 

Busked  7  hem  to  the  boure  •  there  the  birde  dwelled. 

Mildeliche  Mede  thanne  •  mercyed 8  hem  alle 

Of  theire  gret  goodnesse  •  and  gaf  hem  uchone  9 

Coupes  of  clene  golde  •  and  coppis  of  silver 

Eynges  with  rubies  •  and  richesses  manye. 

Thanne  Iau3te 10  thei  leve  •  this  lordes  at  Mede. 

Then  came  a  friar,  who  begged  that  he  might  be  Mede's 

1  aware.  2  trimmed.  8  fur.  4  handsomely. 

5  burning  coal.  G  dwell.          7  went.  8  thanked. 

•  each  one.  10  took. 


76         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

confessor  and  bedesman,  and  promised  her  the  joys  of 
heaven  if  she  would  provide  a  painted  window  in  the 
church  of  his  order. 

Thanne  Mede  for  here  mysdedes  •  to  that  man  kneled 

And  shrove  hire  of  hire  shrewednesse  •  shameless  I  trowe 

Tolde  hym  a  tale  •  and  toke  him  a  noble. 

For  to  ben  hire  bedeman  •  and  hire  brokour  als. 

Thanne  he  assoilled  hir  sone  •  and  sithen  '  he  seyde 

'  We  han  a  wyndowe  a  wirchyng  •  wil  sitten 2  us  ful  heigh 

Woldestow  •  glase  that  gable  •  and  grave  thereinne  thi  name 

Siker 4  sholde  thi  soule  be  •  hevene  to  have.' 

In  the  fifth  Passus  or  Canto  of  the  poem  Eeason  is 
described  as  preaching  to  the  people  and  telling  them 
that  the  pestilences  and  storms  which  had  wasted  England 
were  God's  judgments  for  their  sins.  Then  the  Seven 
Deadly  Sins  repent  and  go  on  pilgrimage  with  a  crowd  of 
people  to  seek  for  truth.  But  no  one  knows  the  way, 
and  all  enquiries  are  in  vain.  They  meet  a  palmer  and 
ask  him  whence  he  comes. 

'  Fram  Synay,'  he  seyde,  '  and  fram  oure  lordes  sepulcre 
In  Bethleem  and  in  Babiloyne  •  I  have  been  in  bothe, 
In  Ermonye,  in  Alisaundre  •  in  many  other  places. 
50  may  se  bi  my  signes  •  that  sitten  on  myn  hatte, 
That  I  have  walked  ful  wyde  •  in  wete  and  in  drye 
And  sou^te  gode  seyntes  •  for  my  soules  helth.' 

'Know  you  the  saint  called  Truth?'  they  then  asked. 

'  Nay,  so  me  god  helpe  ! '  •  seide  the  gome 5  thanne, 
I  seygh 6  nevere  palmere  •  with  pike  ne  with  scrippe 
Axen  after  hym  er  •  til  now  in  this  place.' 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  the  poem  Piers  the  Plow- 
man appears,  and  teaches  them  that  by  honest  industry 
alone  Truth  is  to  be  found. 

!  then.  -  cost.  3  would 'st  thou.  4  sure. 

•  man.  6  saw. 


'PIERS  PLOWMAN9  77 

'I  have  ben  his  folwar  •  al  this  fifty  wyntre. 

I  dyke  and  I  delve  •  I  do  that  treuthe  hoteth  '  ; 

Some  tyme  I  sowe  •  and  some  tyme  I  thresche ; 

In  tailoures  craft  and  tynkares  craft  •  what  treuthe  can  devyse, 

I  weve  an  I  wynde  •  and  do  what  treuthe  hoteth, 

For  thou^e  I  seye  it  myself  •  I  serve  him  to  pay ; 

Ich  have  myn  huire 2  of  hym  wel  •  and  otherwhiles  more, 

He  is  the  prestest 3  payer  •  that  pore  men  knoweth, 

He  ne  with-halt  non  hewe  4  his  hyre  •  that  he  ne  hath  it  at  even ; 

He  is  as  low  as  a  lombe  •  and  loveliche  of  speche, 

And  jif  36  wilneth  to  wite  •  where  that  he  dwelleth 

I  shall  wisse  ^ow  witterly 5  •  the  weye  to  his  place.' 

The  pilgrims  beg  him  to  guide  them  to  Truth's 
shrine,  but  he  has  first  his  half  acre  to  plough  by  the 
wayside. 

'  Hadde  I  eried  6  this  half  acre  •  and  sowen  it  after 
I  wolde  wende  with  3ow  •  and  the  way  teche.' 

Meanwhile  none  must  be  idle,  either  man  or  woman. 

'  Wyves  and  wydwes  •  wolle  and  flex  spynneth, 
Maketh  cloth,  I  conseille  3ow  •  and  kenneth 7  so  sowre  dou3tres 
The  nedy  and  the  naked  •  nymmeth 8  hede  how  hii 9  liggeth 10 
And  casteth  hem  clothes  •  for  so  comaundeth  treuthe.' 

The  men  shall  go  with  him  to  the  plough. 

Now  is  perkyn  and  his  pilgrymes  •  to  the  plowe  faren ; 
To  erie  this  halve  acre  •  holpyn  hym  manye. 
Dikeres  and  delveres  •  digged  up  the  balkes ; 
And  some  to  plese  perkyn  •  piked  up  the  wedes. 

But  some  lazy  fellows  would  not  work. 

And  thanne  seten  somme  •  and  songen  atte  nale  n 
And  hulpen  erie  his  half  acre  •  with  '  how  I  trolli-lolli.' 

Piers  was  wroth  with  them,  and  said  they  should 
starve. 

1  bids.         2  hire,         3  readiest.         4  servant.         5  clearly. 

«  ploughed.  7  teach.  8  take.  9  they. 

10  lie.  »  at  the  ale. 


78        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Tho  were  faitoures  aferde  •  and  feyned  hem  blynde 

Somme  leyde  here  legges  aliri '  •  as  suche  loseles  conneth 

And  made  her  mone  to  pieres  •  and  preyde  him  of  grace 

'  For  we  have  no  Iyme8 2  to  laboure  with  •  lorde,  y-graced  be  30 

Ac  we  preye  for  3ow  pieres  •  and  for  jowre  plow  bothe 

That  god  of  his  grace  •  3owre  grayne  multiplye 

And  jelde  sow  of  3owre  almesse *  •  that  30  3ive  us  here, 

For  we  may  nou3te  swynke  ne  swete  •  suche  sikenesse  us  eyleth.' 

But  Piers  saw  well  that  they  were  cheats,  and  in- 
sisted on  their  setting  to  work. 

To  kepe  kyne  in  the  felde  •  the  come  fro  the  bestes, 
Diken  or  delven  •  or  dyngen *  uppon  sheves, 
Or  helpe  make  morter  •  or  bere  mukke  a-felde. 

Then  the  rogues  grew  saucy  and  defiant,  and  Piers 
was  compelled  to  call  in  Hunger  to  quell  them. 

Hunger  in  haste  tho  •  hent 5  Wastour  bi  the  mawe 

And  wronge  him  so  bi  the  wombe    that  bothe  his  eyen  wattered  ; 

He  buffeted  the  Britoner  •  aboute  the  chekes, 

That  he  loked  like  a  lanterne  •  al  his  lyf  after. 

He  bette  hem  so  bothe  •  he  barste  6  nere  here  ribbes, 

Ne  hadde  Pieres  with  a  pese-lof  •  preyed  hunger  to  cesse. 

1  Suffre  hem  lyve,'  he  seyde  • '  and  lete  hem  etc  with  hogges 

Or  elles  benes  and  bren  •  ybaken  togidere, 

Or  elles  melke  and  mene  ale  '  •  thus  preyed  Pieres  for  hem. 

Faitoures  for  fere  her -of  •  flowen  into  bernes 

And  flapten  on  with  flayles  •  fram  morwe  til  even. 

An  heep  of  heremites  •  henten  hem  spades, 

And  dolven  and  dykeden  •  to  dryve  aweye  hunger. 

We  cannot  follow  further  the  course  of  this  interest- 
ing poem,  but  in  the  later  portions  the  character  of  Piers 
is  raised  and  ennobled  until  he  becomes  identified  with 
Christ  Himself,  the  mild  sufferer  and  conqueror. 

1  across.  2  limbs.  s  alms.  *  thresh. 

s  seized.  6  broke, 


CHA  UCER  79 


CHAUCER. 

GEOFFREY  CHAUCER  was  born  in  London,  and  lived  on 
the  Thames  bank,  which  was  in  the  fourteenth  century 
a  much  sweeter  and  pleasanter  place  than  it  is  now. 
His  father,  John,  and  his  grandfather,  Eichard  Chaucer, 
were  vintners  of  the  City  of  London,  and  the  youth 
thus  grew  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  jollity  and  good  cheer. 
Later  in  life  he  was  engaged  in  the  Custom  House,  and 
lived  in  the  rooms  over  the  Aldgate.  He  was  therefore 
moving  daily  near  Langland,  the  author  of  *  Piers  Plow- 
man,' who  then  lived  on  Cornhill ;  but  the  paths  of  the 
two  poets  do  not  appear  to  have  crossed.  Their  tem- 
perament, genius,  and  fortune  were  widely  different. 
Chaucer's  nature  was  joyous,  and  his  poetic  vision  was 
far-reaching;  Langland  was  earnest  and  sad,  and  his 
genius,  though  profound,  was  somewhat  narrow.  The 
one  poet  was  the  favourite  of  princes ;  the  other  was 
poor  and  despised.  The  vice  and  hypocrisy  which  roused 
the  indignation  of  Langland  only  excited  merry  scorn  in 
Chaucer. 

The  date  of  the  poet's  birth  is  uncertain.  The 
commonly  accepted  date  is  1328,  and  if  this  is  right 
he  would  be  seventy- two  at  his  death  in  1400,  and  we 
find  that  Gower,  in  1392,  in  the  '  Confessio  Amantis,' 
speaks  of  Chaucer  as  being  *  nowe  in  his  dayes  olde.' 
But  there  is  really  no  positive  evidence  for  the  date  1328, 
while  we  find  that  Chaucer  himself,  in  giving  evidence 
in  a  lawsuit  in  1386,  declared  that  he  was  forty  years 
and  upwards,  and  that  he  had  borne  arms  for  twenty- 


So  HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

seven  years.  It  is  therefore  probable  that  he  was  born 
not  earlier  than  1340. 

Chaucer's  writings  show  that  he  had  partaken  cf  the 
best  learning  of  his  times,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  fancy 
that  we  have  some  touches  of  his  own  portrait  in  the 
description  of  the  Clerk  of  Oxenford  :— 

For  him  was  lever  have  at  his  beddes  heed 
Twenty  bookes  clothed  in  black  and  reed 
Of  Aristotle  and  his  philosophic 
Than  robes  riche,  or  fiddle  or  sautrie. 

But  the  first  certain  information  we  have  of  him  is 
in  1857,  when  he  is  mentioned  more  than  once  in  the 
Household  Book  of  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Prince  Lionel,  third 
son  of  Edward  III.,  and  he  was  probably  a  page  in  the 
service  of  the  princess  and  an  inmate  of  the  most  bril- 
liant court  in  Europe.  Two  years  later  he  went  with 
the  English  army  to  France,  when  Edward  III.  with 
100,000  men  ravaged  once  more  the  towns  and  fields  of 
that  unhappy  land.  Chaucer  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
French,  and  after  the  Treaty  of  Bretigny,  of  1360,  he 
was  ransomed  by  the  king. 

In  1367  we  find  Chaucer  in  receipt  of  a  pension  or 
salary  of  twenty  marks  as  one  of  the  valets  of  the 
king's  household,  and  to  this  time  belongs  his  earliest 
original  poem,  his  *  Compleynte  to  Pite,'  in  which  he 
mourns  over  the  misery  of  unrequited  love  :— 

With  herte  soore,  and  ful  of  besy  peyne 
That  in  this  worlde  was  never  wight  so  woo. 

During  the  ten  years  1370-80  Chaucer  was  several 
times  sent  abroad  on  diplomatic  business,  and  to  one  of 
these  missions,  that  of  1373,  a  special  interest  is  at- 


CHAUCER  8 1 

tached.  In  December  1372  he  left  London,  and  returned 
in  November  1373.  During  the  year  he  transacted  the 
king's  business  in  Genoa  and  Florence,  and  it  is  imagined 
with  much  probability  that  he  met  the  poet  Petrarch  at 
Padua.  The  Clerk  of  Oxenford,  in  introducing  his  tale 
of  the  '  Patient  Griselda,'  says : — 

I  wil  yow  telle  a  tale,  which  that  I 
Lerned  at  Padowe  of  a  worthy  clerk, 
As  provyd  by  his  wordes  and  his  werk. 
He  is  now  deed,  and  nayled  in  his  chest, 
I  pray  to  God  so  give  his  soule  rest. 
Fraunces  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete, 
Highte  '  this  clerk,  whos  rethorique  swete 
Enlumynd  al  Ytail  of  poetrie. 

Chaucer's  diplomatic  business  was  done,  it  would 
seem,  to  the  king's  liking,  and  on  April  23,  1374,  at 
the  feast  of  St.  George  held  at  Windsor,  the  poet  re- 
ceived a  grant  for  life  of  a  pitcher  of  wine  daily  to  be 
received  in  London  from  the  king's  butler.  Two  months 
later  he  was  appointed  Comptroller  of  the  Customs,  and 
at  about  the  same  time  he  received  a  pension  of  101.  a 
year  for  life  from  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  for 
the  good  service  which  had  been  rendered  by  him  and 
his  wife  Philippa  to  the  said  Duke,  his  consort,  and  his 
mother  the  queen.  This  is  the  earliest  mention  of  a 
wife  of  Chaucer,  and  there  is  much  conjecture  as  to  who 
the  lady  was.  In  1366  a  Philippa  Chaucer  is  named  as 
one  of  the  ladies  in  waiting  upon  Queen  Philippa,  and  it 
is  quite  possible  that  she  was  a  cousin  of  Geoffrey's,  and 
was  married  to  him  eight  years  later.  For  the  next 
twelve  years  the  poet  retained  his  office  in  the  Customs, 

1  was  named. 


82        HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  lived  as  a  married  man  in  his  house  at  Aldgate,  and 
it  is  thought  that  he  is  describing  this  period  of  his  life 
when  in  '  The  Temple  of  Fame '  one  addresses  him 
thus : — 

When  thy  labour  doon  al  ys 
And  hast  ymade  rekenynges 
Instid  of  reste  and  newe  thynges 
Thou  goost  home  to  thy  house  anoon 
And,  also  dombe  as  any  stoon, 
Thou  sittest  at  another  booke, 
Tyl  fully  daeewyd »  ys  thy  looke. 

In  1877  Edward  III.  died,  but  Chaucer's  good  for- 
tune suffered  no  interruption.  He  was  sent  next  year 
on  a  fresh  mission  to  Italy,  and  he  was  appointed  to  an 
additional  office  in  the  Customs.  In  1386  he  was  elected 
knight  of  the  shire  for  "Kent,  but  he  lost  both  his  offices 
in  the  Customs  in  that  year.  Changes  of  the  king's 
ministers  were  probably  the  cause  of  this  misfortune,  and 
in  1389  Chaucer  was  once  more  in  favour,  and  was 
appointed  clerk  of  the  king's  works  at  the  Palace  of 
Westminster,  Tower  of  London,  and  other  royal  seats 
and  lodges,  but  he  retained  the  office  for  about  two  years 
only. 

Chaucer  was  now  growing  old,  and  his  life  had  not 
been  free  from  care.  His  wife  was  dead,  and  had  left 
him  a  little  son,  Lewis,  for  whom  he  wrote  a  little  prose 
treatise  on  the  Astrolabe.  He  addresses  him,  *  Little 
Lowis,  my  sonne,  I  perceive  well  by  certain  evidences 
thine  abilitie  to  learne  sciences  touching  numbers  and 
proportions,  and  also  wel  consider  I  thy  busie  prayer  in 
especiall  to  learne  the  Treatise  of  the  Astrolabie.'  He 

1  dazed. 


CHAUCER  83 

also  tells  him  that  he  writes  it  in  English  '  for  Latine  ne 
canst  thou  nat  yet  but  smale,  my  little  sonne.'  In  his 
latter  years,  too,  the  poet  seems  to  have  known  poverty. 
He  had  found  need  to  dispose  of  some  of  his  pensions, 
and  in  1398  we  find  that  he  borrows  small  sums  of 
money. 

In  1399  Henry  IV.,  the  son  of  Chaucer's  old  patron 
the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  came  to  the  throne,  and  the 
poet  sent  to  him  a  little  poem  addressed  to  his  empty 
purse.  The  appeal  was  effective,  the  poet's  pension  was 
doubled,  and  he  took  a  lease  of  a  house  in  the  garden  of 
St.  Mary's  Chapel  in  Westminster,  and  there  he  pro- 
bably spent  the  last  year  of  his  life,  for  he  died  in  Octo- 
ber 1400,  and  was  buried  in  the  Abbey. 

Among  Chaucer's  works  there  is  a  little  poem  which 
is  said  to  have  been  '  made  by  him  upon  his  dethe 
bedde  leying  in  his  grete  anguysse.'  It  breathes  a  spirit 
of  mild  wisdom  chastened  by  adversity. 

Fie  fro  the  pres,  and  duelle  with  soothfastnesse  ; 
Suffice  the  l  thy  good,  though  hit  be  smale, 
For  horde  hath  hate,  and  clymbyng  tikelnesse 2 ; 
Pres  hath  envye,  and  wele  is  blent  over  alle  ; 
Savour  no  more  than  the  behove  shalle ; 
Do  well  thyself  that  other  folke  canst  rede,3 
And  trouthe  the  shal  delyver,  hit  ys  no  drede. 

That  the  is  sent  receyve  in  buxumnesse 4  ; 
The  wrasteling  of  this  world  asketh  a  f alle ; 
Her5  is  no  home,  her  is  but  wyldyrnesse, 
Forth  pilgrime,  forth  best  out  of  thy  stalle, 
Loke  up  on  hye,  and  thonke  God  of  alle. 
Weyve  6  thy  lust,  and  let  thy  goste 7  the  lede, 
And  trouthe  shal  the  delyver,  hit  is  no  drede. 

1  thee.  2  risk.  3  advise.  *  obedience. 

5  here.  6  forsake.          7  spirit. 

G  2 


84         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


CHAUCER'S  EARLIER  POEMS. 

'The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose/ — This  is  a  translation 
(unfinished)  of  the  famous '  Eoman  de  la  Kose ' — the  finest 
poem  of  early  French  literature,  and  one  of  the  most 
popular  books  of  the  middle  ages.  It  describes  a  lover 
seeking  and  at  last,  after  countless  perils,  gaining  the 
object  of  his  love,  who  is  described  under  the  allegory  of 
a  rose.  The  poem  abounds  in  graceful  descriptions  of 
flowers  and  birds,  of  singing  and  dancing,  of  fair  ladies 
and  noble  bachelors  ;  and  we  may  well  believe  that  the 
lords  and  ladies  of  King  Edward's  court  listened  with 
pleasure  to  Chaucer's  translation. 

The  poet  dreams  and  sees  a  lovely  garden  to  which 
he  is  admitted  by  a  fair  maiden  called  Ydelnesse. 

There  sprange  the  vyolet  al  newe, 
And  fresche  pervynke  ryche  of  hewe, 
And  floures  yelowe,  white,  and  rede  ; 
Suche  plent6  grewe  there  never  in  mede. 
Ful  gaye  was  al  the  grounde,  and  queynt, 
And  poudred,  as  men  had  it  peynt, 
With  many  a  freshe  and  sondrye  floure, 
That  casten  up  ful  good  savoure. 

On  the  lawn  there  were  dancing  a  noble  company, 
Sir  Mirthe,  the  lord  of  the  garden,  and  Gladnesse,  his 
lady,  and  many  others,  and  among  them  a  beautiful  lady 
named  Fraunchise. 

And  next  hym  dauncede  dame  Fraunchise, 
Arayed  in  fulle  noble  gyse. 
She  was  not  broune  ne  dunne  of  hewe, 
But  white  as  snowe  falle  newe, 


CH AUGERS  EARLIER  POEMS  85 

With  eyen  gladde,  and  browes  bente  ; 
Hir  here  doun  to  hir  helis  wente. 
And  she  was  symple  as  dowve *  of  tree, 
Ful  debonaire 2  of  herte  was  she. 

'The  Boke  of  the  Duchesse.'— In  1369  Blanche  the 
wife  of  John  of  Gaunt  died,  and  Chaucer  expressed  in 
this  poem  his  own  grief  and  that  of  his  patron  for  her 
loss.  The  poem  is  long  and  the  plan  is  somewhat  in- 
volved and  cumbrous.  The  poet  cannot  sleep,  and  reads 
a  book  of  romance  until  a  deep  sleep  falls  upon  him,  and 
he  begins  to  dream.  It  is  a  May  morning,  the  birds  are 
singing,  the  horns  are  sounding,  and  the  poet  rises  to 
joint  the  hunt.  Then  in  the  depths  of  the  forest  he  sees 
a  black  knight  sitting  under  a  huge  oak,  and  bitterly 
lamenting  to  himself. 

Alias  !  Dethe,  what  ayleth  thee 
That  thou  noldest  have  taken  me 
Whan  that  thou  toke  my  lady  swete  ? 
That  was  so  faire,  so  fresh,  so  fre, 
So  goode,  that  men  may  wel  se, 
Of  al  goodenesse  sche  hadde  no  mete. 

After  a  while  he  talks  with  the  poet  and  describes  his 
first  meeting  with  the  lady.  She  was  one  of  a  fair  com- 
pany— 

But  as  the  somerys  sonne  bryghte 
Ys  fairer,  clerer,  and  hath  more  lyghte 
Than  any  other  planete  in  hevene, 
The  moone,  or  the  sterres  sevene ; 
For  al  the  worlde,  so  hadde  she 
Surmountede  hem  al  of  beaute. 

I  saugh  hir  daunce  so  comelely, 
Carole  and  synge  so  swetely, 
Lawghe,3  and  pleye  so  womanly, 

1  dove.  z  gentle.  *  laugh. 


86        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

And  loke  so  debonairly ; 
So  goodely  speke  and  so  frendly : 
That  certes  Y  trowe  that  evermore, 
Nas  seyne  so  blysful  a  tresore. 

The  knight  then  tells  how  hard  she  was  to  win  and  how 
happy  she  made  him  at  last. 

'  Sir,'  quod  I,  *  where  is  she  now  ?  ' 
'  Now  ?  '  quod  he,  and  stynte '  anoon ; 
Therewith  he  waxe  as  dede  as  stoon, 
And  seyde,  '  Alias,  that  I  was  bore ! ' 
/ 

1  The  Parlement  of  Briddes  ;  or,  the  Assembly  of 
Foules.' — This  pretty  poem  shows  marks  of  Italian  in- 
fluence, and  it  was  therefore  probably  written  after  1373, 
though  some  would  date  it  earlier.  The  poet  again  uses 
his  favourite  device  of  a  dream  as  an  introduction.  He 
has  been  reading  all  day  long 

Upon  a  booke  was  write  wyth  lettres  olde, 

namely,  Tully's  book  of  '  Scipio's  Dream,'  and  he  went 
to  bed  weary,  and  his  mind  heavy  with  thought.  Then 
he  dreamed,  and  Scipio  led  him  forth  to  a  park  walled 
round  with  stone,  and  over  the  gate  was  wrought  in 
large  letters  an  inscription  which  was  in  pleasant  con- 
trast with  the  dreadful  inscription  in  Dante's  poem  : — 

Thorgh  me  men  goon  into  that  blysful  place, 
Of  hertes  hele  -  and  dedely  woundes  cure ; 
Thorgh  me  men  goon  unto  the  welle  of  grace, 
There 3  grene  and  lusty  May  shal  ever  endure ; 
This  is  the  wey  to  al  good  aventure ; 
Be  glad,  thou  reder,  and  thy  sorwe  of  caste ; 
Al  open  am  I,  passe  in  and  hye  the  faste. 

2  health.  •  where. 


CHAUCER'S  EARLIER  POEMS  87 

Through  the  gate  they  pass  and  find  a  garden  of 
delight : — 

A  gardyn  sawh  I  ful  of  blossomed  bowis 
Upon  a  ryver,  in  a  grene  mede, 
There  as  swetnes  evermor  ynowh  is, 
With  floures  white,  blew,  yelow,  and  rede, 
And  colde  welle  stremes,  nothinge  dede, 
And  swymmynge  ful  of  smale  fisshes  lyghte, 
With  fynnes  rede,  and  scales  sylver  bryghte. 

Wonders  many  they  saw  and  heard,  and  at  last  they 
came  where  the  noble  goddess  Nature,  '  the  vicar  of 
the  almighty  Lorde,'  is  sitting  on  a  hill  of  flowers,  while 
before  her  are  gathered  all  the  birds  of  heaven. 

For  this  was  on  seynt  Valentynes  day, 

Whan  every  foule  cometh  there  to  chese  '  his  make,2 

Of  every  kynde  that  menne  thynke  may ; 

And  that  so  huge  a  noyse  ganne  they  make, 

That  erthe,  and  see,  and  tree,  and  every  lake, 

So  ful  was,  that  unnethe  8  was  ther  space 

For  me  to  stonde,  so  ful  was  al  the  place. 

The  birds  are  named  and  described,  and  then  the  poet 
tells  us  how — 

Nature  helde  on  hir  honde 
A  formel 4  egle,  of  shappe  the  gentileste 
That  ever  she  amonge  hir  werkes  fonde, 
The  moste  benigne,  and  eke  the  goodlyeste ; 
In  hir  was  every  virtu  at  his  rest, 
So  ferforthe5  that  Nature  hir  selfe  hadde  blysse, 
To  looke  on  hir  and  ofte  hir  beke  to  kysse. 

For  this  beautiful  bird  three  eagles,  all  royal  but  not 
of  equal  degree,  make  their  suit  and  pledge  their  vows. 
Nature  then  calls  upon  the  assembled  birds  to  be  judges 
in  the  case,  but  no  conclusion  can  thus  be  reached.  The 

1  choose.        2  mate.        3  scarcely.        *  female.        5  completely. 


88         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

formel  eagle  herself  must  choose,  and  she  prays  to  be 
excused  for  one  year  more. 

I  wolle  noght  serven  Venus  ne  Cupide, 
Forsoth  as  yet,  by  no  maner  weye. 

The  prayer  is  granted,  and  the  parliament  broke  up 
with  such  a  huge  noise  that  the  poet  awoke. 

All  critics  agree  that  in  this  poem  some  royal  wed- 
ding or  courtship  is  described  in  allegory,  and  the  most 
probable  explanation  seems  to  be  this  :  Anne  of  Bohemia, 
the  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Charles  IV.,  was  betrothed 
successively  to  a  Bavarian  prince  and  to  a  Margrave  of 
Meissen,  but  finally,  after  negotiations  which  lasted  a 
twelvemonth,  she  was  wedded  to  the  young  King  Richard 
of  England.  If  this  interpretation  be  correct,  the  poem 
must  be  as  late  as  1381. 

Chaucer  wrote  several  other  fine  poems,  such  as 
'  Troylus  and  Cryseyde,'  the  *  House  of  Fame,  and  the 
*  Legende  of  Goode  Women,'  which  well  deserve  descrip- 
tion, but  we  must  pass  on  to  the  work  which  is  the  crown 
and  glory  of  his  life. 


THE  ' CANTERBURY  TALES.' 

THE  plan  of  the  *  Canterbury  Tales '  appears  to  have  been 
suggested  by  the  '  Decameron  '  of  Boccaccio,  but  it  is 
agreed  that  Chaucer  has  produced  a  more  lifelike  pic- 
ture than  his  predecessor.  In  1348  the  great  plague 
desolated  Florence,  and  Boccaccio  describes  a  party  of 
ten  ladies  and  gentlemen  retiring  to  their  pleasant 
country  seats,  and  there  for  ten  days  entertaining  each 


THE  <  CANTERBURY  TALES'  89 

other  with  feasting,  music  and  dancing,  and  the  telling 
of  merry  tales.  Each  tells  a  tale  on  each  day,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  ten  days  they  return  to  Florence.  As  the 
narrators  are  friends  and  equals  there  is  little  or  no 
room  for  any  effective  contrasts  of  character,  and  the 
plague,  the  garden  and  the  feasting  merely  serve  as  a 
slight  thread  on  which  to  string  together  a  hundred 
pleasant  stories. 

Chaucer,  on  the  other  hand,  brings  together  to  an 
inn  a  motley  but  very  lifelike  group  of  travellers,  and 
as  they  journey  forth  each  tells  a  tale  in  his  own  manner. 
The  mixture  of  high  and  low,  of  humorous  and  pathetic, 
is  very  effective,  and  the  whole  forms  a  real  drama. 
*  By  choosing  a  pilgrimage,  Chaucer  puts  us  on  a  plane 
where  all  men  are  equal,  with  souls  to  be  saved  and  with 
another  world  in  view  that  abolishes  all  distinction.  By 
this  choice  and  by  making  the  Host  of  the  Tabard 
always  the  central  figure  he  has  happily  united  the  two 
most  familiar  emblems  of  life — the  short  journey  and 
the  inn.' 

The  Prologue  to  the  Tales  is  justly  considered  to  be 
some  of  Chaucer's  finest  work,  and  its  excellences  are 
all  his  own.  In  other  works  he  has  borrowed  much 
from  the  French  and  Italian  and  other  literatures ;  but 
this  finely-drawn  series  of  pictures  is  distinctly  English. 

First  there  is  the  Knight- 
That  from  the  tyme  that  he  first  bigan 
To  ryden  out,  he  loved  chyvalrye, 
Trouthe  and  honour,  fredom  and  curtesie. 

Far  and  wide  had  be  been  in  Christendom  and  heathen- 
esse, and  had  fought  in  *  fifteen  mortal  battles,'  yet — 


QO         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Of  his  port  as  meke  as  is  a  mayde, 
He  nevere  yit  no  vileinye  ne  sayde 
In  all  his  lyf  unto  no  maner  wight, 
He  was  a  verray  perfight  gentil  knight. 

Then  there  was  his  son  the  Squire— 

A  lovyere,  and  a  lusty  bachelor, 

With  lokkes  crulle  '  as  they  were  layde  in  presse. 

He  had  not,  like  his  father,  journeyed  into  distant 
lands,  but  had  served  in  King  Edward's  wars  '  in  Flaun- 
dres,  in  Artoys,  and  Picardie'- 

And  born  him  wel,  as  of  so  litel  space 
In  hope  to  stonden  in  his  lady  grace. 
Embrowded  was  he,  as  it  were  a  mede 
Al  ful  of  fresshe  floures,  white  and  rede, 
Syngynge  he  was  or  floytynge,2  al  the  day  ; 
He  was  as  fressh  as  is  the  moneth  of  May. 

Then    the    Prioress,   whom    Chaucer   describes    so 
lovingly,  with  her  coy  demeanour  and  gentle  heart. 

Hire  gretteste  ooth  ne  was  but  by  seynt  Loy 
And  sche  was  cleped  madame  Eglentyne. 
Ful  wel  sche  sang  the  servise  divyne 
Entuned  in  hire  nose  ful  semely. 

Sche  was  so  charitable  and  so  pitous 
Sche  wolde  weepe  if  that  sche  sawe  a  mous 
Caught  in  a  trappe,  if  it  were  deed  or  bledde. 
Of  smale  houndes  hadde  sche,  that  sche  fedde 
With  rested  flessh  or  mylk  and  wastel  breed  3 ; 
But  sore  wepte  sche  if  oon  of  hem  were  deed, 
Or  if  men  smot  it  with  a  yerde  *  smerte : 
And  al  was  conscience  and  tendre  herte. 

The  male  ecclesiastics  of  the  company  were  unde- 
serving of  respect,  and  doubtless  Chaucer  truly  described 

1  curly.  -  blowing  a  wind  instrument. 

8  fine  cake.  4  rod. 


THE  «  CANTERBURY  TALES*  91 

their  luxury,  their  hypocrisy,  and  impurity.     First  there 
was  the  Monk — 

A  manly  man,  to  ben  an  abbot  able, 

Ful  many  a  deynte  hors  hadde  he  in  stable ; 

And  whan  he  rood,  men  mighte  his  bridel  heere 

Gyngle  in  a  whistlyng  wynd  as  cleere 

And  eek  as  lowde  as  doth  the  chapel  belle. 

His  heed  was  balled  that  schon  as  eny  glas, 
And  eek  his  face  as  he  hadde  ben  anoynt. 
He  was  a  lord  f ul  fat  and  in  good  poynt ; 
His  eyen  steepe,1  and  rollyng  in  his  heede, 
That  stemede  as  a  forneys  of  a  leede.8 

Next  the  Begging  Friar,  whose 

Typet  was  ay  farsed 3  ful  of  knyfes 
And  pynnes  for  to  give  fair  wyfes. 

He  was  the  beste  beggere  in  his  hous, 
For  though  a  widewe  hadde  noght  oo  4  schoo, 
So  pleasant  was  his  In  principio 
Yet  wolde  he  have  a  ferthing  or 5  he  wente. 

He  knew  the  taverns  well  and  could  sing  a  jolly  song. 

And  in  his  harpyng  whan  that  he  hadde  sunge 
His  eyghen  twynkled  in  his  heed  aright, 
As  don  the  sterres  in  the  frosty  night. 

Then  there  was  the  Pardoner — 

That  streyt  was  comen  from  the  Court  of  Borne. 

His  walet  lay  byforn  him  in  his  lappe 
Bret-ful  of  pardoun  come  from  Borne  al  hoot. 

He  hadde  a  croys "  of  latoun 7  ful  of  stones 
And  in  a  glas  he  hadde  pigges  bones. 
But  with  these  reliques  whan  that  he  fond 
A  poore  persoun s  dwellyng  uppon  lond, 
Upon  a  day  he  gat  him  more  moneye 
Than  that  the  persoun  gat  in  monthes  tweye. 

In  pleasing  contrast  with  these  shameless  men  was 

1  bright.  2  kitchen  copper.  3  stuffed.  4  one. 

6  ere.  6  cross.  7  brass.  8  parson. 


92         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  '  poore  Persoun  of  a  toun,'  who  may  have  been  one 
of  Wyclif  s  poor  priests. 

Wyd  was  his  parische,  and  houses  fer  asonder 
But  he  ne  lafte  not  for  reyne  ne  thonder 
In  siknesse  nor  in  mischief  to  visite 
The  ferreste  in  his  parissche,  moche  and  lite,1 
Uppon  his  feet,  and  in  his  hond  a  staf. 

A  bettre  preest,  I  trowe,  ther  nowher  non  is. 
He  waytede  after  no  pompe  and  reverence 
Ne  maked  him  a  spiced  conscience, 
But  Cristes  lore,  and  his  apostles  twelve, 
He  taughte,  but  first  he  folwede  it  himselve.' 

Other  striking  portraits  there  are :  the  bold-faced  Wife 
of  Bath,  wearing  a  hat  '  as  brood  as  is  a  bokeler  or  a 
targe ; '  the  white-bearded  Frankeleyn,  so  fond  of  good 
living  that '  hit  snewede  in  his  hous  of  mete  and  drynke ; ' 
and  the  poor  Clerk  of  Oxenford,  mounted  on  a  horse  *  as 
lene  as  is  a  rake/  whose  soul  was  given  to  books  and 
study,  and  who  spoke  not  one  word  more  than  was  need- 
ful. But  we  must  stay  no  longer  with  them. 


THE  TALES. 

CHAUCER  in  the  Prologue  gives  the  number  of  the  travel- 
lers as  '  nyne  and  twenty  in  a  compainye  of  sondry  folk,' 
and  it  seems  to  have  been  his  intention  that  each 
should  tell  a  tale  on  his  outward  journey  and  one  on  his 
return.  But  after  excluding  one  or  two  tales  which  ap- 
pear to  be  spurious,  we  have  only  twenty-three  left,  and 
the  whole  plan,  therefore,  is  not  half  completed.  In  this 

1  great  and  small. 


THE   TALES  93 

respect  Chaucer's  work  is  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
symmetry  and  completeness  of  Boccaccio's.  The  tales 
are  of  unequal  merit,  and  we  can  only  notice  a  few  of 
them. 

The  Knight's  Tale,  which  opens  the  series,  is  one  of 
the  finest,  and  it  is  a  translation  or  adaptation  of  Boc- 
caccio's long  poem,  the '  Teseide.'  This  Italian  poem  is 
in  twelve  books  and  contains  ten  thousand  lines,  while 
Chaucer's  contains  not  much  more  than  two  thousand, 
and  while  the  later  poet  omits  no  material  part  of  the 
story,  he  in  several  respects  improves  the  plan  and 
heightens  the  beauty  of  the  description. 

Two  dear  friends,  Palamon  and  Arcite,  are  captives 
in  the  tower  of  the  Duke  of  Athens,  and  from  the  window 
they  behold  and  fall  in  love  with  the  Duke's  beautiful 
sister,  Emelie,  who  is  in  the  garden. 

Emelie,  that  fairer  was  to  seene 
Than  is  the  lilie  on  hire  stalke  grene, 
And  fresscher  than  the  May  with  floures  newe, 
For  with  the  rose  colour  strof  hire  he  we. 

And  in  the  gardyn  at  the  sonne  upriste 
Sche  walketh  up  and  doun,  wher  as  hire  liste 
Sche  gadereth  floures,  party  whyte  and  reede, 
To  make  a  sotil l  gerland  for  hire  heede 
And  as  an  aungel  hevenly  sche  song. 

The  two  friends  are  friends  no  longer,  and  their  peace 
of  mind  is  gone.  Each  in  course  of  time  gains  his 
liberty,  and  after  many  strange  accidents  the  Duke  finds 
them  fiercely  fighting  in  a  wood.  It  is  then  arranged 
that  each  shall  seek  a  hundred  knights  to  help  him  in  a 
great  jousting,  and  the  victor  shall  receive  the  hand  of 
Emelie. 

1  finely  wrought, 


94         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 
To  aid  Palamon  in  this  combat  there  came — 

Ligurge  himself,  the  grete  kyng  of  Trace  ; 

Blak  was  his  herd,  and  manly  was  his  face. 

The  cercles  of  his  eyen  in  his  heed 

They  gloweden  bytwixe  yelwe  and  reed ; 

And  lik  a  griff oun  lokede  he  aboute, 

With  kempe  !  heres  on  his  browes  stowte. 

And  as  the  gyse  was  in  his  contr6 

Ful  heye  upon  a  char  of  gold  stood  he. 

A  wrethe  of  gold  arm-gret 2  and  huge  of  wighte 

Upon  his  heed,  set  ful  of  stoones  brighte, 

Of  fyne  rubies  and  of  dyamauntz. 

About  his  char  ther  wenten  white  alauntz  * 

Twenty  and  mo,  as  grete  as  eny  steer, 

To  hunt  at  the  lyoun  or  at  the  bere. 

On  Arcite's  side  there  came 

The  grete  Emetreus,  the  kyng  of  Ynde, 

Uppon  a  steede  bay,  trapped  in  steel, 

Covered  in  cloth  of  gold  dyapred  wel, 

Cam  rydng  lyk  the  god  of  armes  Mars. 

His  coote-armure  was  of  cloth  of  Tars, 

Cowched  *  with  perles  whyte  and  rounde  and  grete. 

His  sadel  was  of  brend  5  gold  new  ybete, 

A  mantelet  uppon  his  schuldre  hangyng 

Bret-ful  of  rubies  reede,  as  fir  sparklyng. 

Upon  his  hond  he  bar  for  his  delyt 

An  egle  tame  as  eny  lylie  whyt. 

Aboute  this  kyng  ther  ran  on  every  part 

Ful  many  a  tame  lyoun  and  leopart. 

In  the  combat  Palamon  was  overcome,  but  Arcite 
while  riding  forward  to  receive  the  prize  was  thrown 
from  his  horse  and  received  a  deadly  hurt.  Great  was 
the  sorrow  in  Athens  at  his  death,  and  his  funeral  was 
splendid.  Palamon  and  Emelie  were  both  present. 

1  shaggy.  2  thick  as  a  man's  arm.  3  great  dogs, 

4  trimmed.        5  burnished. 


THE   TALES  95 

Tho  cam  this  woful  Theban  Palamoun, 
With  flotery  l  herd,  and  ruggy  asshy  heeres, 
In  clothis  blak,  y-dropped  al  with  teeres  ; 
And,  passyng  othere  of  wepyng,  Emelye, 
The  rewfulleste  of  al  the  compainye. 

After  a  befitting  interval  Palamon  and  Emelie  forget 
their  sorrow  and  are  united. 

And  thus  with  alle  blisse  and  melodye 

Hath  Palamon  i-wedded  Emelye. 

And  God,  that  all  this  wyde  world  hath  wrought, 

Sende  him  his  love,  that  hath  it  deere  i-bought. 

The  Miller's  Tale,  which  follows  the  Knight's,  is 
filled  with  humour,  and  it  appears  to  be  Chaucer's  own 
invention,  but  the  humour  is  too  broad  and  coarse  for 
the  taste  of  the  present  day.  It  contains  a  pleasant  por- 
trait of  a  carpenter's  young  wife. 

Brighter  was  the  schyning  of  hir  he  we 
Than  in  the  Tour  the  noble  2  i -forged  newe. 
But  of  hir  song,  it  was  as  lowde  and  yerne  3 
As  eny  swalwe  chiteryng  on  a  berne.4 
Therto  sche  cowde  skippe,  and  make  a  game 
As  eny  kyde  or  calf  folwyng  his  dame. 
Hir  mouth  was  sweete  as  bragat 5  is  or  meth 
Or  hoord  of  apples,  layd  in  hay  or  heth. 
Wynsyng  sche  was,  as  is  a  joly  colt, 
Long  as  a  mast  and  upright  as  a  bolt. 

The  Wyf .  of  Bath  in  her  tale  pleasantly  tells  how 
in  the  old  days  the  land  was  filled  with  fairies,  but  now 
they  had  fled  before  the  monks  who  swarmed  every- 
where. 

In  olde  dayes  of  the  kyng  Arthour, 

Of  which  thatJBritouns  speken  gret  honour 

Al  was  this  lond  fulfilled  of  fayrie, 

The  elf-queen,  with  hir  Joly  compaignye, 

1  waving.        a  gold  coin.        a  brisk.        4  barn.        5  a  sweet  drink. 


96         HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Daimcede  ful  oft  in  many  a  grene  mede. 

This  was  the  old  oppynyoun,  as  I  rede  ; 

I  speke  of  many  hundrid  yer  ago  ; 

But  now  can  no  man  see  noon  elves  mo. 

For  now  the  grete  charite  and  prayeres 

Of  lymytours  '  and  other  holy  freres, 

That  sechen  every  lond  and  every  streem, 

As  thik  as  motis  in  the  sonne  beem, 

Blessynge  halles,  chambres,  kitchenes  and  boures, 

Citees,  burghes,  castels  hihe  and  toures, 

Thropes,  bernes,  shepnes  and  dayeries, 

That  makith  that  there  ben  no  fayeries 

For  ther  as  wont  to  walken  was  an  elf, 

Ther  walkith  noon  but  the  lymytour  himself 

In  undermeles  *  and  in  morwenynges, 

And  saith  his  matyns  and  his  holy  thinges 

As  he  goth  in  his  lymytatioun.3 

The  Clerk's  Tale  of  the  patient  Griselda  is  an 
English  rendering  of  Petrarch's  Latin  version  of  one  of 
the  most  pathetic  of  Boccaccio's  stories.  Griselda  is  first 
described  in  her  poverty. 

In  gret  reverence  and  charite 

Hir  olde  pore  fader  fostered  sche ; 

A  few  scheep  spynnyng  on  the  feld  sche  kepte, 

Sche  nolde  not  ben  ydel  til  sche  slepte. 

And  when  sche  horn- ward  com  she  wolde  brynge 
Wortis  or  other  herbis  tymes  ofte, 
The  which  she  schred  and  seth  4  for  her  lyvynge, 
And  made  hir  bed  ful  hard  and  nothing  softe. 
And  ay  sche  kept  hir  fadres  lif  on  lofte,5 
With  every  obeissance  and  diligence, 
That  child  may  do  to  fadres  reverence. 

Then  she  is  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  a  noble  marquis, 
and  she  becomes  the  mother  of  two  children,  a  girl  and 
a  boy.  Then  her  husband,  though  he  loved  her,  made 

1  begging  friars.  -  afternoons.  3  district. 

*  boiled.  '  literally  '  in  the  air.' 


THE    TALES  97 

sharp  trials  of  her  patience  and  obedience.  Her  chil- 
dren were  taken  from  her  and  at  length  she  herself  was 
sent  back  to  her  father's  poor  cottage.  She  bears  it  all 
in  meekness. 

Byforn  the  folk  hirselven  strippith  sche, 
And  in  her  smok,  with  heed  and  foot  al  bare 
Toward  hir  fader  house  forth  is  sche  fare. 
The  folk  hir  folwen  wepyng  in  hir  weye, 
And  fortune  ay  thay  cursen  as  thay  goon  ; 
But  sche  fro  wepying  kept  hir  eyen  dreye, 
Ne  in  this  tyme  word  ne  spak  sche  noon. 

At  last  Griselda's  trials  are  over,  she  is  called  back 
to  her  high  estate,  and  is  happy  with  her  children  once 
more. 

The  Squire's  Tale  is  a  fragment  which  treats  of 
wonders  of  magic,  and  it  is  apparently  of  Arabian  origin ; 
and  we  know  that  in  the  twelfth  century  a  great  number 
of  Arab  books  of  magic  and  astrology  were  translated 
into  Latin.  It  is  of  this  story  that  Milton  writes  : 

Call  up  him  that  left  half  told 

The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold, 

Of  Camball  and  of  Algarsife 

And  who  had  Canace  to  wife, 

That  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass, 

And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass, 

On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride. 

The  Prioresse  tells  a  tale  of  a  Christian  child  who, 
as  he  went  through  a  Jewry  singing  a  hymn  of  praise 
to  the  Virgin,  was  caught  by  the  Jews  and  killed.  But 
they  could  not  conceal  the  murder,  for  the  child,  though 
his  throat  was  cut,  still  continued  to  sing. 

O  grete  God,  that  parformest  thi  laude 

By  mouthe  of  innocentz,  lo,  here  thy  might ! 


98         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

This  gemme  of  chastit6,  this  emeraude, 
And  eek  of  martirdom  the  ruby  bright ! 
Ther  he  with  throte  i-corve  lay  upright,1 
He  Almajredemptoris  gan  to  synge 
So  lowde,  that  al  the  place  bigan  to  rynge. 

This  child  with  pitous  lamentacioun 
Up  taken  was,  syngyng  his  song  alway  ; 
And  with  honour  of  gret  processioun 
They  caried  him  into  the  next  abbay. 
His  modir  swownyng  by  the  beere  lay; 
Unnethe  mighte  the  people  that  was  there 
This  newe  Rachel  bringe  fro  the  beere. 

Chaucer  next  gives  us  a  portrait  of  himself,  for  the 
host,  who  in  his  jovial  manner  has  ordered  everything, 
looks  on  him  and  says : 

•  What  man  art  thou  ? '  quod  he. 
'  Thou  lokest  as  thou  woldest  fynde  an  hare, 
For  ever  upon  the  ground  I  se  the  stare. 

'  Approche  ner,  and  loke  merily. 
Now  ware  you,  sires,  and  let  this  man  have  space. 
He  in  the  wast  is  schape  as  wel  as  I ; 
This  were  a  popet  in  an  arm  to  embrace 
For  any  womman,  smal  and  fair  of  face ; 
He  semeth  elvisch  by  his  countenance.' 

Chaucer,  being  called  upon,  gives  the  Tale  or  Rune  of 
Sir  Thopas,  which  was  perhaps  meant  to  ridicule  the  long, 
feeble  and  tedious  romances  which  were  then  in  fashion. 

His  name  was  Sir  Thopas, 
I-bore  he  was  in  fer  contr6 
In  Flaundres,  al  byyonde  the  se, 

At  Poperyng  in  the  place ; 
His  fader  was  a  man  ful  fre, 
And  lord  he  was  of  that  contre 

As  it  was  Goddes  grace. 
Sir  Thopas  wax  a  doughty  swayn  ; 
Whyt  was  his  face  as  payndemayn,- 


with  face  upwards.  2  bread  made  of  the  finest  flour. 


CONTEMPORARIES   OF  CHAUCER  99 

His  lippes  reed  as  rose  ; 
His  rode  is  lik  scarlet  en  grayn 
And  I  you  telle,  in  good  certayn 

He  had  a  semly  nose. 

After  about  two  hundred  lines  of  this  the  Host  will 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  bursts  out  almost  with  curses. 

No  mor  of  this,  for  Goddes  dignite"  ! 
Myn  eeres  aken  for  thy  drasty  J  speche. 
Now  such  a  rym  the  devel  I  byteche  2 ! 
Thou  dost  nought  elles  but  despendist  tyme. 
Sir,  at  o  word,  thou  schalt  no  lenger  ryme. 

Chaucer  then  says  that  he  can  give  no  better  in  verse, 
and  he  gives  a  long  story  in  prose,  the  '  Tale  of  Melibeus.' 
Other  tales  follow,  and  the  Parson  closes  with  a  long 
prose  story,  or  rather  sermon. 


CONTEMPORARIES  AND  FOLLOWERS  OF  CHAUCER. 

CHAUCER  stands  alone  and  unapproached  among  the 
poets  of  his  age,  but  there  are  three  of  his  friends  and 
admirers  who  are  worthy  of  some  mention. 

John  Gower  was  probably  of  about  an  equal  age  with 
Chaucer,  but  he  died  eight  years-  later,  in  1408.  He 
was  of  good  family,  had  lands  in  Kent  and  Essex,  was  a 
generous  benefactor  to  the  Priory  of  St.  Mary  Overie  in 
South wark,  and  in  the  new  church  which  he  helped  to 
rebuild  he  lies  buried,  the  volumes  of  his  three  chief 
works  being  carved  upon  his  tomb. 

These  works  are  :  '  Speculum  Meditantis,'  a  French 
poem,  of  which  no  copy  now  remains ;  '  Vox  Clamantis,'  a 

1  trashy.  2  assign. 


TOO       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Latin  poem,  which  describes  the  rising  of  the  Commons 
in  Richard  II. 's  time ;  and  '  Confessio  Amantis,'  an 
English  poem,  which  he  tells  us  was  written  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  young  king.  The  latter  poem  is  very  long, 
is  in  eight  books,  and  consists  of  a  dialogue  between  a 
lover  and  his  confessor.  Every  evil  affection  which  would 
mar  the  perfection  of  love  is  minutely  examined,  and  its 
evil  effects  are  illustrated  with  short  tales  drawn  from 
many  sources.  Chemistry,  the  Philosophers'  Stone,  Ari- 
stotle's Philosophy,  and  such  like  subjects,  are  discussed, 
for  Gower  was  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  the  age. 
Many  of  the  stories  which  he  weaves  into  his  poem  are 
well  told,  but  he  lacks  the  grace  and  the  fire  of  Chaucer. 
One  of  the  stories  is  of  a  princess  who  set  love  at  de- 
fiance, and  who  was  warned  by  a  vision. 

Whan  come  was  the  moneth  of  Maie 
She  wolde  walke  upon  a  daie ; 
And  forth  she  went  prively 
Unto  a  parke  was  faste  by, 
All  softe  walkenede  on  the  gras. 

There  she  rested  and  saw  the  birds  singing  and  pair- 
ing, while  bucks  and  does,  harts  and  hinds  darted  by. 
Then  she  saw  riding  past  a  company  of  fair  ladies. 

The  sadels  were  of  such  a  pride, 
So  riche  sighe  she  never  none  ; 
With  perles  and  golde  so  wel  begone, 
In  kirtels  and  in  copes  riche 
Thei  were  clothed  all  aliche. 
Her  bodies  weren  longe  and  small, 
The  beau  tee  of  hir  fayre  face 
There  mai  none  erthly  thing  deface ; 
Corownes  on  their  heades  thei  bare, 
As  e<?he  of  hem  a  quene  were., 


CONTEMPORARIES   OF  CHAUCER  101 

After  these  fair  ladies  came  one  dressed  in  a  tattered 
garment  and  riding  on  a  wretched  horse,  while  round 
her  waist  were  more  than  a  hundred  halters.  From 
her  the  princess  learns  that  the  hundred  ladies  when 
living  were  faithful  votaries  of  love,  but  she  was  a  rebel 
and  now  was  forced  to  do  annual  penance. 

For  I  whilom  no  love  had  ; 

My  horse  is  now  feble  and  badde, 

And  al  to  torn  is  myn  araie  ; 

And  everie  year  this  freshe  Maie 

These  lustie  ladies  ride  aboute, 

And  I  must  nedes  sew '  her 2  route 

In  this  manner  as  ye  nowe  see, 

And  trusse  her  hallters  forth  with  mee, 

And  am  but  her  horse  knave. 

We  have  several  pleasing  indications  of  the  friend- 
ship which  existed  between  Gower  and  Chaucer.  In 
Gower's  poem  the  lover  in  describing  his  perfect  devotion 
to  his  lady's  will  says  : 

Whan  I  maie  her  hand  beclip 
With  such  gladness  I  daunce  and  skip 
Methinketh  I  touch  not  the  floure ; 
The  roe  which  renneth  on  the  moore 
Is  than  nought  so  light  as  I — 
And  whan  it  falleth  other  gate,3 
So  that  hir  liketh  not  to  daunce, 
But  on  the  dyes  to  cast  a  chaunce, 
Or  aske  of  love  some  demaunde  ; 
Or  els  that  her  list  commaunde 
To  rede  and  here  of  Troilus. 

It  is  thought  that  the  Troilus  is  almost  certainly 
Chaucer's  poem  of  '  Troilus  and  Cressida.' 

Again  at  the  end  of  the  poem,  Venus  is  described  as 

1  follow.  2  their.  3  way. 


102       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

speaking   to   Gower,    and   giving   him   a   message    for 
Chaucer. 

And  grete  well  Chaucer  when  ye  mete 
As  my  disciple  and  my  Poete  ; 
For  in  the  floures  of  his  youthe, 
In  sondry  wyse,  as  he  well  couthe, 
Of  dytees  and  of  songes  glade, 
The  whiche  he  for  my  sake  made, 
The  land  fulfylled  is  over  all. 

On  the  other  hand,  Chaucer,  at  the  end  of  his  Troilus, 

says : 

O  moral  Gower  this  Boke  I  direct 

To  the,  and  to  the  philosophical  Strode,' 

and  two  of  his    *  Canterbury  Tales '  are  taken    from 
materials  supplied  by  his  friend's  poem. 

Thomas  Occleve  and  John  Lydgate  were  young 
men  of  about  thirty  when  Chaucer  died,  and  each  of  them 
mourned  for  him  as  their  friend  and  master.  Occleve 
wrote  a  number  of  poems  of  little  merit,  but  to  the 
longest  of  them  he  prefixed  a  prologue,  in  which  there 
is  an  affecting  tribute  to  Chaucer. 

O  maister  dere  and  fader  reverent, 

My  maister  Chaucer,  floure  of  eloquence, 

Mirrour  of  fructuous  entendement,1 

0  universal  fader  in  science  ! 

Alias  that  thou  thyne  excellent  prudence 

In  thy  bedde  mortalle  myghtest  not  bequethe  ! 

What  eyled  Dethe  ?  alias !  why  wold  he  sle  the  ? 

On  one  of  the  manuscripts  of  this  poem  Occleve  painted 
from  memory  the  portrait  of  Chaucer  with  which  we  are 
all  familiar.  '  The  downcast  eyes,  half  sly,  half  medita- 
tive, the  sensuous  mouth,  the  broad  brow  drooping  with 
weight  of  thought,  and  yet  with  an  inexpugnable  youth 
1  intelligence. 


CONTEMPORARIES   OF  CHAUCER  103 

shining  out  of  it  as  from  the  morning  forehead  of  a  boy, 
are  all  noticeable,  and  not  less  so  their  harmony  of 
placid  tenderness.' l 

Lydgate  was  a  writer  of  much  sprightlier  genius. 
He  was  a  monk  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  but  he  had 
travelled  into  France  and  Italy,  and  was  familiar  with 
the  literature  of  these  countries.  His  poems  were  very 
numerous  and  of  many  kinds,  and  he  enjoyed  a  great 
measure  of  popularity.  '  If  a  disguising  was  intended  by 
the  Company  of  Goldsmiths,  a  mask  before  His  Majesty 
at  Eltham,  a  may-game  for  the  sheriffs  and  aldermen  of 
London,  a  mumming  before  the  lord  mayor,  a  procession 
of  pageants  from  the  Creation  for  the  festival  of  Corpus 
Christi,  or  a  carol  for  the  coronation,  Lydgate  was  con- 
sulted, and  gave  the  poetry.'  2 

Lydgate's  chief  works  were  the  '  Fall  of  Princes,'  the 
<  Troy  Boke,'  and  the  '  Storie  of  Thebes.'  The  first  of 
these  is  a  translation  of  a  Latin  work  of  Boccaccio's,  and 
it  is  a  series  of  pictures  or  '  tragedies  of  all  such  princes 
as  fell  from  theyr  estates  through  the  mutability  of  for- 
tune since  the  creacion  of  Adam.'  The  work  was  exe- 
cuted for  Humphrey  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  was  a 
munificent  patron  of  learning  in  those  days.  In  the 
prologue  Lydgate  refers  thus  to  Chaucer. 

My  maister  Chaucer  with  his  fresh  commedies 
Is  deed,  alas  !  chefe  poete  of  Bretayne, 
That  somtyme  made  full  piteous  tragedies, 
The  fall  of  princes,  he  did  also  complayne 
As  he  that  was  of  makyng  soverayne, 
Whom  all  this  lande  of  right  ought  preferre, 
Sithe  of  our  langage  he  was  the  lode-sterre. 

1  Lowell.  2  Warton. 


104       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  'Troy  Boke '  was  begun  at  the  command  of 
Henry  IV.,  and  was  dedicated  and  presented  to  Henry  V. 
It  is  a  translation,  not  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  but  of  a 
Latin  romance  of  the  thirteenth  century  by  Guido  di 
Colonna. 

For  the  '  Storie  of  Thebes '  Lydgate  is  indebted  to 
the  Latin  poet  Statius  and  to  Boccaccio,  and  he  intro- 
duces it  as  an  additional  *  Canterbury  Tale.'  The  poet 
describes  himself  as  a  monk  riding  to  St.  Thomas' 
shrine — 

In  a  cope  of  black,  and  not  of  grene, 
On  a  palfray,  slender,  long,  and  lene. 

Arriving  at  Canterbury,  he  chances  upon  the  very  inn 
where  Chaucer's  pilgrims  are  gathered,  and  the  jovial 
Host  of  the  Tabard  greets  him. 

Dan  Dominike,  Dan  Godfray,  or  Clement, 

Ye  be  welcome  newly  into  Kent ; 

Though  your  bridle  have  neither  boss  ne  bell, 

Beseching  you  that  you  will  tell 

First  of  your  name. 

He  is  invited  to  supper,  and  the  good  cheer  and  nut- 
brown  ale  will  bring  colour  into  his  pale  cheeks.  To- 
morrow he  shall  return  with  them,  and  must  then  tell 
his  tale  like  the  rest. 

What,  looke  up,  monke  1     For  by  cockes  '  blood 
Thou  shalt  be  mery,  who  so  that  say  nay ; 
For  to-morrowe,  anone  as  it  is  day, 
And  that  it  ginne  in  the  east  to  dawe, 
Thou  shalt  be  bound  to  a  newe  lawe, 
Like  the  custom  of  this  company  ; 
For  none  so  proude  that  dare  me  deny, 
Knight  nor  knave,  chanon,  priest,  ne  nonne, 
To  telle  a  tale  plainely  as  they  conne. 

»  God's. 


CONTEMPORARIES   OF  CHAUCER  105 

The  monk  accepts  the  conditions,  spends  a  merry  even- 
ing, and  on  the  next  day  as  they  are  riding  homeward 
he  tells  his  tragical  story  of  Thebes. 

Some  of  Lydgate's  minor  poems  are  pleasant  reading 
and  give  lively  pictures  of  the  manners  of  the  day. 
Among  them  is  one,  the  *  London  Lyckpeny,'  which  tells 
of  a  Kentish  man  coming  to  town  to  get  redress  from 
the  law,  but  failing  through  lack  of  money. 

To  London  once  my  steppes  I  bent, 
Where  trouth  in  no  wyse  should  be  faynt, 

To  Westmynster-ward  I  forthwith  went, 
To  a  man  of  law  to  make  complaynt ; 
I  sayd,  '  For  Mary's  love,  that  holy  saynt ! 

Pity  the  poore  that  wold  proceede ; ' 

But  for  lack  of  mony  I  cold  not  speede. 

And  as  I  thrust  the  prese  amonge 

By  froward  chaunce  my  hood  was  gone  ; 
Yet  for  all  that  I  stayd  not  longe 

Tyll  to  the  kynges  bench  I  was  come. 

Before  the  judge  I  luieled  anon, 
And  prayed  hym  for  God's  sake  take  heede ; 
But  for  lack  of  mony  I  might  not  speede. 

In  Westmynster  hall  I  found  out  one 

Which  went  in  a  long  gown  of  Eaye ; 
I  crowched  and  kneled  before  hym  anon, 

For  Maryes  love,  of  help  I  hym  praye. 

'  I  wot  not  what  thou  meanest,'  gan  he  say ; 
To  get  me  thence  he  dyd  me  bede ; 
For  lack  of  mony  I  cold  not  speede. 

Then  to  Westmynster  gate  I  presently  went, 

When  the  sonne  was  at  highe  pryme ; 
Cookes  to  me  they  tooke  good  entente, 

And  preferred  me  bread,  with  ale  and  wyne, 

Eybbes  of  befe,  both  fat  and  ful  fyne. 
A  fayre  cloth  they  gan  for  to  sprede ; 
But,  wantyng  mony,  I  myght  not  then  speede,, 


ro6       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Then  went  I  forth  by  London  stone, 

Thoroughout  all  Canwyke  streete  ; 
Drapers  mutch  cloth  me  offred  anone  ; 

Then  met  I  one,  cryed  '  Hot  shepes  feet ' ; 

One  cryde  '  Makerell ' ;  •  Kyshes  grene '  an  other  gan  greete ; 
One  bad  me  by  '  a  hood  to  cover  my  head ; 
But  for  want  of  mony  I  myght  not  be  sped. 

Then  into  Cornhyll  anon  I  3ode,2 

Where  was  mutch  stolen  gere  amonge ; 
I  saw  where  honge  myne  owne  hooclc, 

That  I  had  lost  amonge  the  thronge ; 

To  by  '  my  own  hoode  I  thought  it  wronge, 
I  knew  it  well  as  I  dyd  my  crede, 
But  for  lack  of  mony  I  cold  not  speede. 

Then  I  convayd  me  into  Kent 

For  of  the  law  wold  I  meddle  no  more ; 
Because  no  man  to  me  tooke  entent, 

I  dyght3  me  to  do  as  I  dyd  before. 

Now  Jesus,  that  in  Bethlem  was  bore, 
Save  London,  and  send  trew  lawyers  there  mede 
For  who  so  wantes  mony  with  them  shall  not  speede  \ 

1  buy-  -  went  3  set 


THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY  107 


THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY. 

THE  period  of  a  hundred  years  which  followed  the  death 
of  Chaucer  is  one  of  tMe  most  barren  in  our  literature. 
There  were  writers,  it  is  true — poets  in  name,  but  in  name 
only — whose  works  are  wearisome  and  spiritless;  and  the 
genius  of  the  English  appeared  to  sleep.  Hugh  Campe- 
den  and  Thomas  Chestre,  in  the  time  of  Henry  VI.,  trans- 
lated from  the  French,  poems  which  have  never  been 
printed ;  and  in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  John  Harding 
wrote  a  tedious  Chronicle  of  England,  styling  himself  in 
the  dedication  and  title  the  king's  '  humble  poete  lau- 
reate,' and  this  is  the  first  appearance  in  our  literature  of 
that  fine  title. 

Other  writers  there  were  who  are  still  more  obscure, 
such  as  Dame  Juliana  Berners,  Prioress  of  Sopewell,  who 
wrote  in  rhyme  three  tracts  on  Hunting,  Hawking,  and 
Heraldry  ;  and  Henry  Bradshaw,  a  monk  of  Chester, 
who  wrote  a  metrical  life  of  St.  Werburgha,  his  patron 
saint. 

The  prose  writing  of  the  period  is  somewhat  better, 
but  it  does  not  redeem  the  age  from  its  obscurity,  and 
the  stagnation  prevailed,  not  in  England  only,  but  over 
Europe.  *  Of  the  books  then  written  how  few  are  read  ! 
Of  the  men  then  famous  how  few  are  familiar  in  our 
recollection.' l 

Keasons  for  such  a  state  of  intellectual  torpor  cannot 
be  given  with  certainty,  but  two  at  least  have  been  sug- 
gested, and  of  these  the  first  is  the  influence  of  the 
scholastic  philosophy. 

1  Hallam. 


io8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

During  the  twelfth  century  the  works  of  Aristotle,  with 
the  commentaries  of  great  Arabian  doctors,  began  to 
be  studied  in  Western  Europe,  and  the  enthusiasm  for 
the  new  study  was  wonderful — Abelard,  Peter  Lombard, 
Duns  Scotus,  Thomas  Aquinas  a*re  only  a  few  of  the 
names  of  famous  teachers  who  attracted  crowds  of 
scholars. 

1  At  Oxford  there  were  thirty  thousand  scholars.  No 
building  in  Paris  could  contain  the  crowd  of  Abelard's 
disciples  ;  when  he  retired  to  solitude  they  accompanied 
him  in  such  a  multitude  that  the  desert  became  a  town. 
These  young  and  valiant  minds  thought  they  had  found 
the  temple  of  truth ;  they  rushed  at  it  headlong  in  legions, 
breaking  in  the  doors,  clambering  over  the  walls,  leap- 
ing into  the  interior,  and  so  found  themselves  at  the 
bottom  of  a  moat.  Three  centuries  of  labour  at  the 
bottom  of  this  black  moat  added  no  single  idea  to  the 
human  mind.' ! 

For  the  studies  which  had  so  captured  the  hearts  of 
men  were  logic  and  metaphysics,  leading  to  endless 
disputations  of  words,  and  withdrawing  the  attention 
from  any  true  study  of  nature  and  mankind. 

In  the  hands  of  Aristotle  these  studies  had  proved  a 
noble  instrument  for  the  investigation  of  truth,  but  they 
were  now  applied  to  obscure  and  often  frivolous  questions 
of  theology  which  logic  could  never  resolve.  At  last,  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  this  barren  philosophy  gave  way  to 
a  nobler  one  which  was  really  helpful  to  man,  and  which 
gave  a  healthy  stimulus  to  his  intellect  instead  of  striking 
it  with  torpor. 

1  Taine. 


THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY  109 

'  Consider  the  old  Schoolmen,  and  their  pilgrimage 
towards  Truth:  the  faithfulest  endeavour,  incessant 
unwearied  motion,  often  great  natural  vigour  ;  only  no 
progress :  nothing  but  antic  feats  of  one  limb  poised 
against  the  other ;  there  they  balanced,  somersetted,  and 
made  postures ;  at  best  gyrated  swiftly  with  some 
pleasure,  like  Spinning  Dervishes,  and  ended  where  they 
began.' l 

The  second  suggested  cause  for  this  stagnation  was 
the  stern  repression  of  innovations  in  religion.  During 
the  preceding  century  attempts  were  made  to  curb  the 
growing  power  and  pride  and  luxury  of  the  clergy, 
and  Wyclif  and  his  poor  priests  gave  an  example  of  a 
purer  life  and  simpler  faith.  But  the  new  house  of 
Lancaster  gained  the  support  of  the  Church,  and  in 
return  cruelly  persecuted  the  Lollards,  A  law  for  the 
burning  of  heretics  was  passed,  and  the  reign  of  each 
of  the  three  Henries  was  disgraced  by  these  executions. 
The  Keformation  was,  however,  only  delayed,  and  in 
the  next  century,  in  conjunction  with  several  other 
causes,  it  produced  such  an  outburst  of  intellectual 
vigour  as  has  seldom  been  seen  in  the  history  of  the 
world. 

1  Carlyle. 


no        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

CAXTON    AND   THE    INVENTION    OF   PRINTING. 

THE  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century  is  famous  on 
account  of  the  invention  of  printing,  which  so  greatly 
aided  the  awakening,  the  Renaissance  of  the  next  century. 
The  honour  of  the  invention  belongs  to  Guttenber^,  of 
Mentz,  who,  with  his  partner  Fust,  about  the  year  1455, 
printed  the  beautiful  Latin  Bible  called  the  Mazarin  Bible. 

'  It  is  a  very  striking  circumstance  that  the  high- 
minded  inventors  of  this  great  art  tried  at  the  very  out- 
set so  bold  a  flight  as  the  printing  an  entire  Bible,  and 
executed  it  with  astonishing  success.  We  may  see  in 
imagination  this  venerable  and  splendid  volume  leading 
up  the  crowded  myriads  of  its  followers,  and  imploring, 
as  it  were,  a  blessing  on  the  new  art,  by  dedicating  its 
first-fruits  to  the  service  of  Heaven.'  ! 

Some  twenty  years  later  the  new  art  was  brought  to 
this  country,  and  in  November  1477  the  first  book  which 
we  certainly  know  was  printed  in  England,  issued  from 
the  press  in  '  the  abbey  at  Westmynstre.'  The  printer, 
William  Caxton,  was  born  in  the  Weald  of  Kent  about 
1422,  and  was  sent  to  a  good  school,  as  he  gratefully 
records  in  one  of  his  prefaces  :  '  I  am  bounden  to  pray 
for  my  fader  and  moder's  souls,  that  in  my  youthe  sent 
me  to  schoole.'  In  1488  he  was  apprenticed  to  the  rich 
London  mercer,  Robert  Lange,  who  became  Sheriff  and 
Lord  Mayor,  and  who  died  in  1441.  Caxton  soon  after- 
wards, while  still  an  apprentice,  went  to  Bruges,  and 
'contynued  for  the  space  of  XXX  yere '  in  the  Low 
Countries.  In  course  of  time  he  became  the  '  governor  ' 

1  Hall  am. 


CAXTON  AND   THE  INVENTION  OF  PRINTING    in 

or  representative  at  Bruges  of  the  Mercers'  Company 
of  London,  and  had  many  difficult  and  delicate  duties  to 
•perform  in  promoting  and  regulating  the  great  trade 
between  England  and  the  Low  Countries. 

In  1463  Margaret,  sister  of  Edward  IV.,  was  married 
to  Charles  the  Bold  of  Burgundy,  and  Caxton  was 
brought  into  friendly  intercourse  with  her,  and  in  1470 
he  appears  no  longer  as  a  merchant,  but  as  one  in  the 
household  service  of  the  duchess. 

About  1469  he  began  a  translation  from  the  French 
of  the  '  Kecuyell  of  the  Historyes  of  Troye,'  and  finished 
it  at  Cologne  in  1471.  The  book  was  much  sought  after, 
and  it  is  thought  that,  in  order  to  multiply  copies  of  it, 
Caxton  set  himself  to  learn  the  '  mystery '  of  printing. 

Some  few  years  earlier  Mentz  had  been  besieged 
and  captured,  Fust's  press  had  been  broken  up  and  his 
workmen  scattered,  and  in  this  way  the  secret  art  was 
spread.  From  some  of  these  workmen  Caxton  probably 
learned  the  secret,  and  his  book  was  printed  about  1474. 
No  place  or  date  appears  on  the  title-page,  but  it  is 
thought  to  have  been  printed  at  Bruges ;  and  Caxton's 
next  book,  the  '  Game  and  Playe  of  the  Chesse,'  was 
probably  printed  at  the  same  place. 

Then,  in  1477,  was  printed  at  Westminster  '  The 
Dictes  and  Notable  Wyse  Sayenges  of  thePhylosophers,' 
a  work  translated  from  the  French  by  Earl  Kivers,  the 
brother  of  the  queen.  Chaucer's  *  Cauntyrburye  Tales  ' 
soon  followed,  and  a  second  and  more  correct  edition 
was  afterwards  printed  when  Caxton  had  secured  a 
better  copy. 

The   'Chronicles   of    England,'   the    'Hestoryes   of 


ii2        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Kynge  Arthur,'  the  '  Fables  of  Esope,'  the  '  History  e  of 
Reynart  the  Foxe,'  and  many  another  book  was  printed  by 
him,  and  during  his  fourteen  years  of  labour  in  England 
he  printed  more  than  18,000  pages,  mostly  folio,  and 
nearly  eighty  separate  books.  He  also  himself  translated 
twenty-one  books,  for  the  most  part  French  romances. 
He  enjoyed  the  favour  of  many  nobles  and  of  three 
kings,  Edward  IV.,  Richard  III.,  and  Henry  VII.,  and  he 
died  in  1491,  after  a  life  filled  with  long  and  honourable 
labour. 

We  notice  with  some  surprise  and  disappointment 
that  the  literature  which  issued  from  Caxton's  press  is 
of  a  light  and  comparatively  frivolous  character,  and  that 
no  edition  of  the  Bible  is  in  the  list.  No  doubt  Caxton 
felt  bound  to  study  the  tastes  of  his  powerful  patrons, 
and  we  know  that  Wyclif 's  translation  of  the  Bible,  which 
many  would  have  welcomed,  lay  during  this  time  under 
the  interdict  of  the  Church. 

'  It  was  in  the  year  1477  that  our  first  press  was 
established  in  Westminster  Abbey  by  William  Caxton  ; 
but  in  the  choice  of  his  authors  that  liberal  and  indus- 
trious artist  was  reduced  to  comply  with  the  vicious  taste 
of  his  readers ;  to  gratify  the  nobles  with  treatises  on 
heraldry,  hawking,  and  the  game  of  chess,  and  to  amuse 
the  popular  credulity  with  romances  of  fabulous  knights 
and  legends  of  more  fabulous  saints.* l 

1  Gibbon. 


MORTE   D> ARTHUR  113 

MORTE   D'ARTHUR. 

THIS  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  books  that  issued 
from  Caxton's  press,  though  it  lies  open  to  the  reproach 
which  has  just  been  quoted  from  Gibbon.  In  the  preface 
Caxton  tells  us  how  he  came  to  print  it. 

After  that  I  had  accomplysshed  and  fynysshed  dyvers  hystoryes  of 
grete  conquerours  and  prynces,  many  noble  gentylmen  of  thys  royame  of 
Englond  camen  and  demaunded  me,  wherfore  that  I  have  not  do  made 
and  emprynte,  the  noble  hystorye  of  the  saynt  greal,  and  of  the  moost 
renomed  crysten  Kyng  Arthur,  whyche  ought  moost  to  be  remembered 
emonge  us  Englysshe  men  to  fore  al  other  crysten  kynges. 

For  it  is  notoyrly  knowen  thorugh  the  unyversal  world  that  there 
been  ix  worthy  and  the  best  that  ever  were.  That  is  to  wete  thre  paynyms, 
thre  Jewes,  and  thre  crysten  men.  As  for  the  paynyms,  they  were  to 
fore  the  Incarnacyon  of  Cryst,  which  were  named,  the  fyrst  Hector  of 
Troye,  the  second  Alysaunder  the  grete,  and  the  thyrd  Julyus  Cezar 
Emperour  of  Borne.  And  as  for  the  thre  Jewes,  the  fyrst  was  Due  Josue, 
the  second  Davyd  Kyng  of  Jherusalem,  and  the  thyrd  Judas  Machabeus. 

And  sythe  the  Incarnacyon  have  ben  thre  noble  crysten  men  ad- 
mytted  thorugh  the  unyversal  world  into  the  nombre  of  the  ix  beste 
and  worthy,  of  whome  was  fyrste  the  noble  Arthur,  whos  noble  actes 
I  purpose  to  wryte  in  thys  present  book.  The  second  was  Charlemayn 
or  Charles  the  grete,  and  the  thyrd  and  last  was  Godefray  of  Boloyn, 
of  whos  acts  and  lyf  I  made  a  book  unto  thexcellent  prynce  and  kyng 
of  noble  memorye  kyng  Edward  the  fourth. 

And  the  sayd  noble  jentylman  instantly  requyred  me  temprynte 
thystorye  of  the  sayd  noble  kyng  and  conquerour  kyng  Arthur,  affermyng 
that  I  ou}t  rather  temprynte  his  actes  and  noble  feates  than  of  Godefroye 
of  Boloyne  or  ony  of  the  other  eyght,  consydering  that  he  was  a  man 
borne  wythin  this  royame  and  kyng  and  emperour  of  the  same. 

The  Arthur  legend  is  very  old,  but  it  seems  as  though 
it  would  never  lose  its  freshness.  It  suggested  to  Spenser 
the  idea  of  the  '  Faerie  Queen,'  and  in  our  own  days  it  has 
afforded  material  for  some  of  the  most  charming  and 
perfect  English  poems.  The  story  has  been  told  and 
retold  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  by  Wace  and  Layamon, 


ii4        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  by  many  French  romance  writers.  The  names  of 
the  heroes  and  of  their  dwelling-places  still  cling  to  the 
soil  in  Brittany,  in  Cornwall,  in  Wales,  and  especially  in 
the  Border  country  which  Scott  loved  so  well. 

In  Caxton's  time  there  were  many  French  romances 
on  the  subject  which  were  eagerly  read,  and  a  transla- 
tion and  compilation  was  made  from  these  romances  by 
Sir  Thomas  Malory.  Of  him  little  is  known,  but  he 
speaks  of  himself  as  a  *  servant  of  Jesu  by  night  and  by 
day,'  and  it  has  been  thought  that  he  was  a  priest.  He 
finished  his  translation  about  1470,  and  it  was  printed 
by  Caxton  in  1485. 

One  of  the  romances  which  Malory  made  most  use  of 
was  that  of  *  Launcelot  of  the  Lake,'  and  the  following 
extract  describes  that  famous  knight  dying  of  grief  and 
remorse  after  the  death  of  Arthur  and  Guenevere. 

Than  Syr  Launcelot  never  after  ete  but  lytyl  mete,  ne  dranke,  but 
contynually  mourned  untyll  he  was  deed.  For  evermore  daye  and  nyght 
he  prayed,  but  nedefully  as  nature  requyred  somtyme  he  slombred  a 
broken  slepe,  and  ever  he  was  lyenge  grovelynge  on  Kynge  Arthurs  and 
Quene  Gwenevers  tombe. 

O  ye  myghty  and  pompous  lordes  shynynge  in  the  glory  transytory 
of  thys  unstable  lyf .  Beholde,  beholde,  see  now  thys  myghty  conquerour 
Kyng  Arthur  whom  in  humayne  lyf  all  the  worlde  doubted.  See  also  thys 
noble  quene  Guenever  that  somtyme  sate  in  her  chare  adourned  wyth 
golde,  perles,  and  precyous  stones,  now  lye  ful  lowe  in  obscure  fosse  or 
pytte  covered  wyth  cloddes  of  erth  and  claye.  Beholde  also  thys  myghty 
champyon  Launcelot,  pyerles  of  knyghthode:  see  now  how  be  lyeth 
grovelynge  on  the  colde  moulde,  now  beynge  soo  feble  and  faynt  that 
somtyme  was  so  temble. 

Than  Syr  Launcelot  sent  for  the  bysshop  and  sayd  '  Syr  bysshop  I 
praye  you  geve  to  me  al  my  ryghtes  that  longyth  to  a  crysten  man. 
Soo  whan  he  was  howselyd  and  enelyd,  and  had  all  that  a  crysten  man 
ought  to  have  he  prayed  the  bysshop  that  his  felawes  myght  bere  his 
body  to  Joyous  Garde. 

So  at  a  season  of  the1  nyght  they  al  went  to  theyr  beddes,  for  they 


THE  BALLAD    OF  CHEVY  CHASE  115 

alle  laye  in  one  chambre.  And  so  after  mydnyghte  the  bysshop  as  he 
laye  in  his  bedde  asleep  he  felle  on  a  grete  laughter.  And  therwyth  alle 
the  felaushyp  awoke  and  came  to  the  bysshop  and  asked  him  what  he 
aylled.  A  Jhesu  mercy,  said  the  bysshop,  why  dyd  ye  awake  me  ?  I  was 
never  in  all  my  lyf  so  mery  and  so  wel  at  ease.  Here  was  Syr  Launcelot 
wyth  me  with  moo  aungels  thanne  ever  I  sawe  men  in  one  daye.  And  I 
sawe  the  aungels  heve  up  Syr  Launcelot  unto  heven,  and  the  gates  of 
heven  opened  ayenst  hym.  Goo  ye  to  his  bedde  and  thenne  shalle  ye 
preve  the  sothe.  So  when  they  came  to  his  bedde  they  fonde  hym 
sterke  dede,  and  he  laye  as  he  had  smyled.  And  the  swetest  saveour 
about  hym  that  ever  they  f elte.  Than  was  there  wepynge  and  wryngyng 
of  hondes,  and  the  grettest  doole  they  made  that  ever  made  men. 

And  on  the  morne  the  bysshop  dyd  his  masse  of  Requiem,  and 
after  they  put  Syr  Launcelot  in  the  same  horse  beere,  that  quene  Gwe- 
never  was  layd  in  to  fore  that  she  was  buried.  And  so  they  alle  togyder 
wente  wyth  the  body  of  Syr  Launcelot  dayly  tyll  they  came  to  Joyous 
Garde  and  ever  they  had  an  hondred  torches  brennyng  about  hym. 
And  soo  wythin  xv  dayes  they  came  to  Joyous  Garde.  And  there  they 
layd  hys  corps  in  the  body  of  the  quyre  and  sange  and  redde  many 
sawters  and  prayers  over  hym.  And  ever  his  vysage  was  layed  open 
and  naked,  that  all  folkes  myghte  beholde  hym. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  CHEVY  CHASE. 

No  great  English  poem  was  produced  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  but  several  ballads  of  great  merit  and  by  un- 
known authors  have  come  down  to  us  from  that  period. 
Of  these  the  finest  is  that  of  Chevy  Chase. 

'  The  old  song  of  Chevy  Chase  is  the  favourite  ballad 
of  the  common  people  of  England ;  and  Ben  Jonson  used 
to  say  he  had  rather  have  been  the  author  of  it  than 
of  all  his  works.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  in  his  discourse  of 
poetry,  says  of  it :  "I  never  heard  the  olde  song  of  Percy 
and  Duglas,  that  I  found  not  my  heart  mooved  more 

then  with  a  Trumpet :  and  yet  is  it  sung  but  by  some 

'  i  2 


u6       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

blind    Crouder,    with    no    rougher    voyce,    then    rude 
stile."" 

Earl  Percy  and  Earl  Douglas  were  the  wardens  of 
the  English  and  Scottish  marches,  and  were  quick  to 
resent  the  least  encroachment  from  either  side.  The 
ballad  tells  how 

The  Perse  owt  of  Northombarlande 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 
That  he  wold  hunte  in  the  mountayns, 

Off  Chyviat  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  mauger  -  of  doughte  Doglas, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be 
The  fattiste  hartes  in  all  Cheviat 

He  sayd  he  wold  kill,  and  carry  them  away ; 
Be  my  feth,  sayd  the  dougheti  Doglas  agayn, 

I  wyll  let  that  hontyng  yf  that  I  may. 
Then  the  Perse  owt  of  Bamborowe  cam, 

Wit  him  a  myghtye  meany ; 
With  fifteen  hundrith  archares  bold ; 

The 8  wear  chosen  out  of  shyars  thre. 

The  hunt  began,  and  before  noon  a  hundred  harts  lay 
dead.  Then  news  came  that  the  Douglas  and  his  men 
were  coming. 

The  wear  twenty  hondrith  spearmen  good 

Withouten  any  fayle  ; 
The 3  wear  borne  along  be  the  watter  a  Twyde, 

Yth  bowndes  of  Tividale. 
The  dougheti  Doglas  on  a  stede 

He  rode  att  his  men  beforne  ; 
His  armor  glytteryde  as  dyd  a  glede 4 ; 

A  bolder  barne  was  never  born. 
Tell  me  what  men  ye  are,  he  says, 

Or  whos  men  that  ye  be  : 
Who  gave  youe  leave  to  hunt  in  this 

Chyviat  chays  in  the  spyt  of  me  ? 


Addison.          2  in  spite  of.          3  they.          *  burning  coal. 


THE  BALLAD   OF  CHEVY  CHASE  117 

The  first  mane  that  ever  him  an  answear  mayd 

Yt  was  the  good  lord  Perse. 
We  wyll  not  tell  the  what  men  we  ar,  he  sayd, 

Nor  whos  men  that  we  be  ; 
But  we  wyll  hount  hear  in  this  chays 

In  the  spyte  of  thyne  and  of  the. 

The  battle  then  began,  and  many  fell  on  both  sides. 

At  last  the  Doglas  and  the  Perse  met 

Lyk  to  captayns  of  myght  and  mayne, 
The  swapte  togethar  tyll  the  both  swat 

With  swordes,  that  wear  of  fyn  myllan.1 
Tyll  the  bloode  owte  off  thear  basnetes  sprente 

As  ever  dyd  heal  or  rayne. 
Holde  the,  Perse,  sayd  the  Doglas, 

And  i'  feth  I  shall  the  brynge 
Wher  thowe  shalte  have  a  yerls  wagis 

Of  Jamy  our  Scottish  kynge. 
For  the  manfullyste  man  yet  art  thowe 

That  ever  I  conqueryd  in  filde  fightyng. 
Nay  then,  sayd  the  lord  Perse, 

I  tolde  it  the  beforne, 
That  I  wolde  never  yeldyde  be 

To  no  man  of  a  woman  born. 
With  that  ther  cam  an  arrowe  hastely 

Forthe  off  a  mightie  wane 
Hit  hathe  strekene  the  yerle  Dogias 

In  at  the  brest  bane. 
Thoroue  lyvar  and  longs  bathe 

The  sharp  arrowe  ys  gane 
That  never  after  in  all  hys  lyffe  days 

He  spayke  mo  wordes  but  ane, 
That  was,  Fyghte  ye,  my  merry  men,  whyllys  ye  may 

For  my  lyff  days  ben  gan. 
The  Perse  leanyde  on  his  brande, 

And  sawe  the  Doglas  de ; 
He  tooke  the  dede  man  be  the  hande, 

And  sayd,  Wo  ys  me  for  tha  ! 

1  Milan  steel. 


ii8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

To  have  savyde  thy  lyffe  I  wold  have  pertyd  with 

My  landes  for  years  thre, 
For  a  better  man  of  hart  nare  of  hande 

Was  not  in  all  the  north  contre. 

These  were  the  last  words  of  the  Percy,  for  a  Scottish 
knight,  when  he  saw  his  leader  fall,  came  riding  through 
the  press  of  archers. 

He  set  uppone  the  lord  Perse 

A  dynte,  that  was  full  sojare ; 
With  a  suar  '  spear  of  a  myghte  tre 

Clean  thorow  the  body  he  the  Pers6  bore 
Athe  tothar  syde,  that  a  man  myght  se, 

A  large  cloth  yard  and  mare  : 
Towe  bettar  captayns  wear  nat  in  Christiant6 

Then  that  day  slain  wear  ther. 
This  battell  begane  in  Chyviat 

An  owar  befor  the  none, 
And  when  even-song  bell  was  rang 

The  battell  was  nat  half  done. 
Of  fifteen  hondrith  archars  of  Ynglonde 

Went  away  but  fifti  and  thre  ; 
Of  twenty  hondrith  spearmen  of  Skotlonde 

But  even  five  and  fifti. 
But  all  wear  slayne  Cheviat  within  ; 

The  had  no  strengthe  to  stand  on  hie 
The  chylde  may  rue  that  ys  unborne 

It  was  the  mor  pitte* 
Word  ys  commen  to  Eddenburrowe 

To  Jamy  the  Skottishe  kyng 
That  dougheti  Doglas,  lyff -tenant  of  the  Merches, 

He  lay  slean  Chyviot  within. 
His  handdes  dyd  he  weal  and  wryng, 

He  sayd,  Alas,  and  woe  ys  me ! 
Such  another  captayn  Skotland  within, 

He  sayd,  y-feth  shuld  never  be. 
Worde  ys  commen  to  lovly  Londone 

Till  the  fourth  Harry  our  kyng 


JOHN  B ARBOUR  119 

That  lord  Perse  lyff -tenant  of  the  Merchis, 

He  lay  slayne  Chyviat  within. 
God  have  merci  on  his  soil,  sayd  kyng  Harry, 

Good  lord,  yf  thy  will  it  be  ! 
1  have  a  hondrith  captayns  in  Ynglonde  he  sayde 

As  good  as  ever  was  hee  : 
But  Perse,  and  I  brook  my  lyffe, 

Thy  deth  well  quyte  shall  be. 


EARLY   SCOTTISH    POETRY. 

BEFORE  leaving  the  fifteenth  century  we  must  look  over 
the  Scottish  border  into  a  land  where  men  of  kindred 
blood  and  kindred  speech  were  living,  but  where  also  the 
national  spirit  was  strongly  excited  against  England, 
and  not  without  cause. 

The  first  Scottish  poet  to  be  mentioned  is  John  Bar- 
bour,  who  in  the  time  of  our  Edward  III.,  and  while 
Chaucer  was  a  young  man,  is  said  to  have  come  to  Oxford 
as  a  student.  He  afterwards  became  Archdeacon  of  Aber- 
deen, and  wrote  a  long  epic  poem  called  *  The  Bruce,'  in 
which  he  describes  with  spirit  and  genius  the  perilous 
adventures  and  the  final  triumph  of  the  Scottish  hero. 

The  opening  of  the  poem  is  simple  and  to  the  pur- 
pose. 

Storyse  to  rede  ar  delitabill 
Suppose  that  thai  be  nought  but  fabill 
Than  suld  storyse  that  suthfast  wer, 
And  l  thai  war  said  on  gud  maner, 
Have  doubill  plesance  in  herying. 

His  book  shall  be  no  fable,  but  the  true  story  of 

King  Eobert  off  Scotland 
That  hardy  was  of  hart  and  hand 
And  gud  Schyr  James  off  Douglas 

1  if. 


120       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

That  in  hys  tyme  sa  worthy  was 
That  off  hys  price  and  hys  bounte 
Into  far  lands  renounyt  wase  he. 

From  time  to  time  Barbour  breaks  the  course  of  his 
story  to  give  utterance  to  his  feelings  of  love  of  his 
country,  as  in  the  following: 

A  !  fredome  is  a  nobill  thing, 
Fredome  mayse  man  to  haiff  liking  ; 
Fredome  all  solace  to  man  giffis  ; 
He  levys  at  ese,  that  frely  levys. 
A  noble  hart  may  haiff  nane  ese 
No  ellys  nocht  that  may  him  plese ; 
Gyff  fredome  failyhe,  for  fre  liking 
Is  yharnyt '  our  -  all  othier  thing. 

In  one  of  the  books  of  the  poem  Barbour  describes 
Bruce  riding  on  a  little  palfrey,  and  ranging  his  army  on 
the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Opposite  was 
the  English  host,  and  in  front  of  them  was  Sir  Henry 
de  Bohun,  who,  seeing  the  king,  rode  fiercely  forward. 

He  thoucht  that  he  suld  weill  lichtly 
Wyn  hym  and  haf  hym  at  hys  will 
Sen  he  hym  horsyt  saw  sa  ill. 

They-  met  in  full  career,  and   the  knight  missed  the 
king.      ' 

And  he  that  in  hys  sterapys  stud 
With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud 
With  sa  gret  mayn  raucht  hym  a  dynt 
That  nothyr  hat  na  helm  mycht  stynt 
The  hevy  dusche  that  he  hym  gave 
That  neir  the  heid  till  the  harnys  3  clave 
The  hand  ax  schaft  f ruschyt 4  in  twa 
And  he  down  to  the  erd  gan  ga 
All  flatlyngs,  for  hym  faillyt  mycht 
This  wes  the  fyrst  strak  off  the  fycht. 

1  desired.  2  over.  s  brains.  4  crushed. 


JAMES  I.    OF  SCOTLAND  121 

The  twentieth  and  final  book  of  the  poem  tells  of 
the  death  of  Kobert  Bruce,  the  wedding  of  Prince  David, 
and  the  death  of  Douglas  while  fighting  against  the 
Saracens  in  Spain.  Barbour  finished  his  poem  in  1375 
and  died  in  1395. 

In  the  year  that  Barbour  died  there  was  born 
another  Scottish  poet,  Prince  James,  who  afterwards 
reigned  as  James  I.  Scotland  was  then  under  the  weak 
rule  of  Robert  III.,  and  was  full  of  trouble.  The  little 
prince  was  sent  away  at  the  age  of  ten  for  education 
and  safety  to  France,  but  the  ship  was  captured  by  the 
English,  and  the  prince  was  brought  to  London.  From 
1405  to  1424  he  remained  a  captive,  but  he  was  kindly 
treated  and  carefully  educated,  and  he  became  a  student 
and  imitator  of  Chaucer.  . 

His  chief  and  perhaps  his  only  poetical  work  is  the 
*  Kingis  Quhair  '  (King's  Book),  which  was  written  at 
Windsor  the  year  before  his  release.  He  tells  us  that 
he  lay  one  May  morning  on  his  bed  in  Windsor  Tower, 
musing  on  the  ills  of  fortune  and  the  sorrows  of  his 
past  life.  Then  he  chanced  to  go  to  the  window  and, 
like  Chaucer's  Palamon,  he  saw  a  beautiful  vision. 

And  there-with  kest  I  doun  myn  eye  ageyne, 
Quhare  as  I  saw,  walkyng  under  the  toure 

Full  secretly  new  cumyn  hir  to  pleyne,1 
The  fairest  or  the  freschest  Songe  floure 
That  ever  I  sawe,  me  thoucht,  before  that  hour, 

For  quhich  sodayn  abate,  anon  astert 

The  blude  of  all  my  body  to  my  hert. 

And  though  I  stude  abaisit  then  a  lyte 

No  wonder  was  ;  for-quhy  my  wittis  all 
Were  so  overcom  with  plesance  and  delyts, 

1  play,  amuse  oneself. 


122      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Onely  through  latting  of  myn  eyen  fall, 
That  sudaynly  my  hert  became  hir  thrall, 

For  ever,  of  free  wyll ;  for  of  manace 

There  was  no  takyn '  in  hir  suete  face. 

And  in  my  hede  I  drewe  ryght  hastily, 
And  eft  sones  I  lent  it  forth  ageyne, 

And  sawe  hir  walk,  that  verray  womanly, 

With  no  wight  mo,  but  onely  wommen  tueyne, 
Than  gan  I  studye  in  my  self  and  seyne, 

'  A  !  suete,  ar  £e  a  warldly  creature, 

Or  hevinly  thing  in  likenesse  of  nature  ? 

'  Or  ar  $e  god  Cupidis  owin  princesse 
And  cumyn  are  to  louse  me  out  of  band  ? 

Or  ar  ge  verray  nature  the  goddesse, 

That  have  depayntit  with  sour  hevinly  hand 
This  gardyn  full  of  flouris,  as  they  stand  ? 

Quhat  sail  I  think,  allace  !  quhat  reverence 

Sail  I  minester  to  your  excellence  ? ' 

Then  all  the  birds  burst  into  singing,  and  the  lady  also 
sings,  and  the  prince  listens  with  delight  to  her  sweet 
voice.  Then  to  his  sorrow  she  departs,  and  to  him  the 
bright  May  day  becomes  as  night. 

And  quhen  sche  walkit  had  a  lytill  thrawe  '* 

Under  the  suete  grene  bewis  s  bent, 
Hir  faire  fresch  face,  as  quhite  as  ony  snawe, 

Scho  turnyt  has,  and  f urth  hir  wayis  went ; 

Bot  then  began  myn  axis  and  turment, 
To  sene  hir  part,  and  folowe  I  na  mycht ; 
Me  thoucht  the  day  was  turnyt  into  nycht. 

This  beautiful  lady  was  Joan,  the  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Somerset,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  the 
prince  prospered  in  his  wooing.  The  lovers  were  married 
in  the  following  February  in  St.  Mary  Overie  (Gower's 
church),  returned  in  triumph  to  Scotland,  and  were 
crowned  in  May  at  Scone  with  great  rejoicing. 

1  token.  -  time.  *  boughs. 


STEPHEN  HA  WES  123 

HAWES  AND   SKELTON. 

THE  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  century  witnessed  an 
extraordinary  outburst  of  English  poetry,  but  its  early 
years  gave  little  promise  of  this.  In  the  reign  of 
Henry  VII.  Stephen  Hawes  wrote  a  long  poem,  the 
'  Passetyme  of  Pleasure/  which  was  an  echo  of  Chaucer's 
early  poems  and  especially  of  the  '  Komaunt  of  the  Kose.' 
The  hero  of  the  poem,  Graunde  Amour e,  seeks 
and  finds  and  after  many  perilous  adventures  wins  La 
Belle  Pucell.  He  is  led  by  Fame  to  the  Tower  of 
Doctrine  and  is  entertained  by  the  ladies,  Grammar, 
Logic,  Ehetoric,  Arithmetic,  and  Music.  Music  plays 
upon  an  organ  before  a  solemn  assembly,  among  whom 
is  La  Belle  Pucell,  and  with  her  Graunde  Amoure  falls 
instantly  in  love. 

It  happened  so  that  in  a  temple  olde, 

By  the  toure  of  Musyke  at  great  solemnyte 
La  Bell  Pucell  I  dyd  ryght  well  beholde 

Whose  beaute  clere  and  great  humilite 

To  my  heart  dyd  cast  the  darte  of  amyle  ; 
After  whyche  stroke  so  harde  and  farvent 
To  her  excellence  I  came  incontinent. 
Beholdyng  her  chere  and  lovely  countenaunce, 

Her  garmentes  ryche  and  her  propre  stature, 
I  regestered  well  in  my  remembraunce 

That  I  never  sawe  so  fayre  a  creature, 

So  well  favoured  create  by  nature  : 
That  harde  it  is  for  to  wryte  wyth  yncke 
All  the  beaute,  or  any  hert  to  thynke. 
Fayrer  she  was  than  was  quene  Elyne, 

Proserpyne,  Cresyde,  or  yet  Ypolyta, 
Medea,  Dydo,  or  yonge  Polexyne, 

Alcumena,  or  quene  Menelape  ; 

Or  yet  dame  Kosamunde ;  in  certaynte 
None  of  all  these  can  have  the  premynence. 


124       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  next  day  the  lovers  meet  in  a  delightful  garden 
kept  by  the  portress  Courtesy,  and  there  they  plight  their 
troth.  But  before  they  can  be  perfectly  happy  Graunde 
Amoure  has  many  monsters  to  meet  and  quell,  and 
among  them  is  a  giant  twelve  feet  high,  with  three 
heads  styled  Falsehood,  Imagination,  and  Perjury.  The 
fight  with  this  giant  was  fierce  and  long. 

Yet  evermore  I  did  thinke  amonge 

Of  La  Belle  Pucell,  whom  I  shold  attayne 
After  my  battayles,  to  release  my  payne. 

At  last  with  one  mighty  stroke — 

I  cut  of  anooe 
One  of  his  legges,  amiddes  the  thye  bone. 

Than  to  the  ground  he  adowne  did  fall, 
And  upon  me  he  gan  to  loure  and  glum, 
Enforcing  him  so  for  to  ryse  withall, 

But  that  I  shortly  unto  him  did  cum  ; 

With  his  thre  hedeg  he  spytte  all  his  venum ; 
And  I  with  my  swerde  as  fast  as  coude  be, 
With  all  my  force  cut  of  his  hedes  thre. 

Soon  afterwards  Graunde  Amoure  and  La  Belle  Pucell 
are  married,  and  live  many  years  of  perfect  peace  and 
happiness.  Then  Old  Age  comes  and  with  his  staff 
gently  strikes  Graunde  Amoure,  Death  follows  and  calls 
him  away,  Mercy  and  Charity  bury  him,  and  Kemem- 
brance  writes  his  epitaph. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  poem  is  an  ideal  picture  of  a 
perfect  knight,  and  no  doubt  it  furnished  delightful 
reading  to  the  lords  and  ladies  of  Henry's  court.  But 
the  national  taste  was  changing,  and  these  shadowy 
personifications  of  the  virtues  and  vices  soon  ceased  to 
give  pleasure. 

The  poet  laureate,  John    Skelton,  wrote  in   a   far 


JOHN  SKELTON  125 

different  style.  He  is  described  as  a  *  rude,  ray  ling 
rimer,  using  short  measures  pleasing  only  to  the  popular 
eare.'  Most  of  his  works  belong  to  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.,  when  the  pride  and  corruption  of  the  clergy  had 
reached  its  height ;  and  Skelton,  though  himself  a  priest, 
gave  vigorous  expression  to  the  popular  feeling  against 
the  Church.  In  his  '  Boke  of  Colin  Clou^  '  he  speaks  of 
the  prelates 

Buylding  royally 
Their  mancyons  curyously 
With  turrettes  and  with  toures, 
With  halles  and  with  boures, 
Stretchyng  to  the  starres ; 
With  glasse  windowes  and  barres ; 
Hangyng  about  the  walles 
Clothes  of  golde  and  palles ; 
Arras  of  ryche  aray, 
Freshe  as  floures  in  May : 
How  be  it  they  lett  down  fall 
Their  churches  cathedrall. 

Skelton  also  had  the  courage  to  attack  the  pride  and 
insolence  of  the  great  Wolsey,  in  a  poem  called  '  Why 
come  ye  nat  to  Courte  ? ' 

Our  barons  be  so  bolde 

Into  a  mouse  hole  they  wolde 

Eynne  away  and  crepe, 

Lyke  a  mayny  !  of  shepe  ; 

Dare  nat  loke  out  at  dur 

For  drede  of  the  mastyve  cur, 

For  drede  of  the  bochers  dogge 

Wold  wyrry  them  lyke  an  hogge. 

For  all  their  noble  blode 

He  pluckes  them  by  the  hode, 

And  shakes  them  by  the  eare, 

And  brynges  them  in  suche  feare  ; 

He  bayteth  them  lyke  a  bere, 

1  flock. 


t26       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Lyke  an  oxe  or  a  bull ; 

Theyr  wyttes,  he  saith,  are  dull ; 

He  sayth  they  have  no  brayne 

Theyr  astate  to  mayntayne  ; 

And  maketh  them  to  bow  theyr  kne 

Before  his  majeste. 

On  account  of  this  bold  attack  the  poet  was  bound 
to  fly  for  protection  to  the  Sanctuary  at  Westminster. 
There  the  AbBot  Islip  received  him  kindly,  and  he 
remained  in  safety  till  his  death  in  1529,  and  was  buried 
in  St.  Margaret's. 

Not  all  of  Skelton's  rhymes  are  rude  and  railing,  and 
he  wrote  a  pretty  poem  called  '  Phyllyp  Sparowe,'  which 
is  an  elegy  on  a  pet  bird  belonging  to  a  nun.  He  thus 
describes  the  beauty  of  the  nun  : 

Her  eyen  gray  and  stepe  ' 

Causeth  myne  hert  to  lepe  ; 

With  her  browes  bent 

She  may  well  represent 

Fayre  Lucres  as  I  wene 

Or  els  fayre  Polexene, 

Or  els  Caliope 

Or  els  Penelope. 

She  is  the  vyolet 

The  daysy  delectable 

The  columbine  commendable. 

She  florysheth  new  and  new 

In  beaute  and  vertew. 


WILLIAM    DUNBAR   AND   GAWEN    DOUGLAS. 

ONCE  more  we  must  turn  to  Scotland,  for  it  is  in  that 
country  that  in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century 
we  find  the  worthiest  successors  of  Chaucer. 

In  May  1503  the  marriage  was  celebrated  of  James  IV. 

1  bright. 


WILLIAM  D UNBAR  127 

of  Scotland  to  Margaret  daughter  of  Henry  VII.  of  England, 
and  this  gave  occasion  for  a  fine  poem,  '  The  Thistle  and 
the  Kose,'  by  William  Dunbar,  a  native  of  East  Lothian. 

The  progress  of  the  king  and  queen  from  Kichmond 
to  Edinburgh  was  marked  by  extraordinary  magnificence 
of  parade  and  spectacle,  and  among  the  welcomes  given 
to  Margaret  this  poem  of  Dunbar's  would  find  a  place. 

The  poem  opens  with  stanzas  not  unworthy  of  Chaucer : 

Quhen  Merche  wes  with  variand  windis  past, 
And  Appryll  had  with  hir  silver  shouris 

Tane  leif  at  Nature,  with  ane  orient  blast, 
And  lusty  May,  that  muddir  is  of  flouris, 
Had  maid  the  birdis  to  begyn  thair  houris,1 

Amang  the  tendir  odouris  reid  and  quhyt, 

Quhois  harmony  to  heir  it  wes  delyt. 

In  bed  at  morrow  sleiping  as  I  lay, 
Methocht  Aurora,  with  her  cristall  ene 

In  at  the  window  lukit  by  the  day, 

And  halsit  -  me  with  visage  pale  and  grene  ; 
On  quhois  hand  a  lark  sang,  fro  the  splene,3 

'  Awak  luvaris,  out  of  your  slemering, 

Se  how  the  lusty  morrow  dois  upspring !  ' 

The  poet  then  rises,  and  with  May  passes  into  a 
beautiful  garden,  where  Nature  (as  in  Chaucer's  '  Parle- 
ment  of  Briddes  ')  is  summoning  all  beasts  and  birds 
and  flowers  to  appear  and  do  their  accustomed  homage  on 
May  morning.  The  lion  comes  first  and  is  thus  described : 

This  awfull  beist  full  terrible  of  cheir, 
Persing  of  luke,  and  stout  of  countenance, 
Eyght  strong  of  corpes,  of  fassoun  fair,  but  feir,4 
Lusty  of  shaip,  lycht  of  deliverance, 
Reid  of  his  cullour  as  the  ruby  glance, 
In  field  of  gold  he  stude  full  mychtely 
With  floure  de  lucis  sirculit  lustely. 

1  orisons.          2  hailed.          8  with  good  will.          4  fierce. 


128       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

This  is  the  red  lion  of  the  standard  of  Scotland, 
whose  figure  was  encircled  with  the  fleur  de  luce.  Nature 
crowns  the  lion  with  a  diadem  of  precious  gems  and 
bids  him  rule  with  justice  and  mercy.  She  then  calls 
the  flowers  and  selects  the  Thistle  (the  symbol  of  Scot- 
land), crowns  him  with  rubies  and  bids  him  guard  the 
rest.  Above  all  she  bids  him  hold  the  Rose  (the  symbol 
of  England)  in  all  honour. 

Nor  hald  no  udir  flour  in  sic  denty l 

As  the  fresche  Rose,  of  cullor  reid  and  quhyt ; 

For  gif  thou  dois,  hurt  is  thyne  honesty, 

Considdering  that  no  flour  is  so  perfyt, 

So  full  of  vertew,  plesans,  and  delyt, 

So  full  of  blissfull  angelik  bewty, 

Imperial  birth,  honour,  and  dignite. 

Nature  then  crowns  the  Rose  with  clarified  gems 
whose  lustre  fills  the  land.  The  Rose  is  hailed  queen  by 
the  assembled  flowers,  and  the  universal  chorus  of  birds 
sing  her  praise. 

Dunbar  wrote  another  poem,  *  The  Golden  Terge,'  in 
the  manner  of  Chaucer,  whom  he  greets  as  '  Reverend 
Chaucere,  rose  of  rethoris  all,'  and  a  poem  called  '  The 
Daunce,'  which  with  its  grim  humour  reminds  us  of 
Burns  in  '  Tarn  O'Shanter  '  and  the  '  Address  to  the  Deil.' 

Gawen  Douglas  was  the  third  son  of  Archibald  the 
great  Earl  of  Angus.  He  was  born  about  1474,  and 
he  studied  at  St.  Andrews  and  at  the  University  of  Paris. 
He  then  entered  the  Church,  and  was  made  Provost  of 
St.  Giles  in  Edinburgh  in  1501.  Queen  Margaret  became 
his  friend  and  patroness,  and  strove  to  give  him  prefer- 
ment. She  failed  to  gain  for  him  the  Archbishopric  of  St. 

1  price. 


GAWEN  DOUGLAS  129 

Andrews,  but  in  1516  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Dunkeld. 
But  the  times  were  then  full  of  trouble  in  Scotland, 
and  the  bishop  having  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the 
Duke  of  Albany,  was  forced  to  take  refuge  in  England. 
He  was  kindly  received  by  Henry  VIII.,  and  lived  in 
London  till  1522,  when  he  died  of  the  plague  and  was 
buried  in  the  Savoy. 

While  he  was  young,  Douglas  wrote  two  allegorical 
poems,  the  '  Palice  of  Honour  '  and  '  King  Hart/  but  his 
greatest  work  is  the  translation  of  the  Aeneid  of  Virgil, 
whom  he  hails  as  '  Maist  Reverend  ^Virgill,  of  Latyn 
poetis  prynce ;  Gem  of  engyne  l  and  flude  of  eloquens.' 
No  such  work  had  yet  been  attempted  in  English.  It 
is  true  Caxton  had  printed  '  The  Boke  of  Eneydos, 
compyled  by  Vyrgyle,'  but  this  was  not  so  much  a  trans- 
lation as  a  romance  founded  upon  the  story  of  Virgil, 
and  Douglas  speaks  of  it  with  contempt. 

Wil3ame  Caxtoun  of  Inglis  natioun 

In  proys 2  hes  prent  ane  buke  of  Inglis  gros, 

Clepand 3  it  Virgill  in  Eneados, 

Quhilk  that  he  says  of  Franch  he  did  translait ; 

It  has  na  thing  ado  thar  with  God  wait,4 

Ne  na  mair  lyke  than  the  devill  and  Sanct  Austyne. 

The  translation  of  Douglas  possesses  much  beauty 
and  power,  and  the  introductions  to  the  several  books  are 
poems  in  themselves.  That  which  is  prefixed  to  the 
twelfth  book  is  a  long  and  beautiful  description  of  the 
coming  of  May. 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  translation  of  the 
first  book  (lines  728-735),  where  Queen  Dido  welcomes 
Aeneas  and  his  companions  : 

1  genius.  2  prose.  3  calling.  4  knows. 

K 


130         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  queyn  than  askis  of  gold,  for  the  nanys 

A  weghty  cowp,  set  all  with  precyus  stanys, 

Bad  fill  it  full  of  the  rych  Ypocras 

Into  the  quhilk  gret  Belus  accustomyt  was 

To  drynk  umquhile,1  and  fra  hym  every  kyng 

Discend  of  hys  genology  and  ofspring. 

And,  quhen  silens  was  maid  our '-'  all  the  hall, 

O  Jupiter,  quod  scho,3  on  the  we  call, 

We  the  beseik,  this  day  be  fortunabill 

To  us  Tyrryanys,  happy  and  agreabill, 

To  strangearis  cummyn  fra  Troy  on  thar  vayage. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  draws  a  pleasing  picture  of  the  poet- 
bishop  in  *  Marmion.' 

A  bish9p  by  the  altar  stood, 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood, 

With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  white. 

Yet  showed  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 

But  little  pride  of  prelacy ; 

More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 

He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page, 

Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 

The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld. 


TWO   PROSE  WRITERS— BERNER8,  TYNDALE. 

ABODT  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  two  prose 
works  appeared  which  exercised  a  lasting  influence  on 
the  English  language.  One  was  the  fine  translation  of 
Froissart's  Chronicle  by  Lord  Berners,  the  other  the 
still  more  noble  translation  of  the  New  Testament  by 
Tyndale. 

Froissart  himself  lived  nearly  two  hundred  years 
earlier,  and  he  was  a  favourite  with  Edward  III.  and  his 
queen  Philippa,  and  with  Kichard  II.  His  Chronicle  of 
England,  France  and  Spain  is  a  charming  work. 

1  formerly.  2  o'er.  3  she. 


BARON  BERNERS  131 

'  Froissart  is  the  Herodotus  of  a  barbarous  age  ;  had 
he  had  but  the  hick  of  writing  in  as  good  a  language  he 
might  have  been  immortal.  His  locomotive  disposition, 
his  simple  curiosity,  his  religious  credulity,  were  much 
like  those  of  the  old  Grecian.' 1 

Baron  Berners,  who  translated  the  Chronicle  from 
the  French,  was  born  about  1467,  and  was  the  son  of  a 
noble  who  fell  in  the  battle  of  Bar  net.  In  his  youth  he 
was  a  friend  and  companion  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  went 
with  the  king  on  his  expedition  to  France  in  1513,  and 
also  to  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold. 

In  1520  he  was  made  governor  of  Calais,  and  re- 
mained there  till  his  death  in  1533. 

At  the  king's  request  he  translated  Froissart,  and 
the  work  was  issued  from  the  press  in  1523  and  1525. 

In  beauty  of  language  the  translation  often  excels 
the  original,  as  in  the  following  well-known  passage, 
where  the  visit  of  Edward  III.  to  the  Countess  of  Salisbury 
is  described : 

As  sone  as  the  lady  knewe  of  the  kynge's  comyng,  she  set  opyn  the 
gates 2  and  came  out  so  richly  besene,  that  every  man  marveyled  of  her 
beauty,  and  coude  nat  cease  to  regard  her  nobleness  with  her  great 
beauty  and  the  gracyous  wordes  and  countenaunce  that  she  made. 
When  she  came  to  the  kyng  she  knelyd  downe  to  the  yerth,  thankyng  hym 
of  his  socours,  and  so  ledde  hym  into  the  castell  to  make  hym  chere  and 
honour,  as  she  that  coude  .ryght  well  do  it.  Every  man  regarded  her 
marvelussly ;  the  kyng  hymselfe  coude  nat  witholde  his  regardyng  of  her, 
for  he  thought  that  he  never  sawe  before  so  noble  nor  so  f ayre  a  lady  ;  he 
was  stryken  therwith  to  the  hert  with  a  spercle  of  fyne  love  that  endured 
long  after ;  he  thought  no  lady  in  the  worlde  so  worthy  to  be  belovde  as 
she.  Thus  they  entred  into  the  castell  hande  in  hande  ;  the  lady  ledde 

1  Gray. 

2  Of  Wark  Castle  which  the  Countess  defended  against  the  Scots. 

K  2 


132       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

hym  first  into  the  hall,  and  after  into  the  chambre  nobly  aparelled.  The 
kyng  regarded  so  the  lady  that  she  was  abasshed ;  at  last  he  went  to  a 
wyndo  to  rest  hym,  and  so  fell  into  a  great  study.  The  lady  went  about 
to  make  chere  to  the  lordes  and  knyghtes  that  were  ther,  and  comaunded 
to  dresse  the  hall  for  dyner. 

William  Tyndale,  the  translator  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, was  the  son  of  a  Baron  of  Tynedale  who  lost  his 
estates  in  the  north  during  the  Wars  of  the  Koses,  and 
who  found  shelter  and  safety  in  Gloucestershire.  Here 
William  was  born  in  1477,  and  when  he  grew  up  he 
studied  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  then  entered  the 
Church. 

He  became  chaplain  to  a  knight  in  Gloucestershire, 
whose  friends  he  sometimes  startled  and  offended  by  his 
outspoken  opinions  on  matters  of  religion.  '  They  pre- 
ferred the  giving  up  of  Squire  Welch's  good  cheer,  rather 
than  to  have  the  sour  sauce  of  Master  Tyndale's  coniv 
pany.'  To  one  ignorant  and  bigoted  priest  he  exclaimed, 
'  If  God  give  me  life,  ere  many  years  the  ploughboys  shall 
know  more  of  scripture  than  you  do.' 

In  1523  he  left  England,  went  to  Hamburg,  thence 
to  Saxony,  and  at  Wittemberg  he  completed  the  transla- 
tion of  the  New  Testament,  having  as  helpers  two  friends, 
John  Frith  and  William  Roy.  The  work  was  issued  in 
1525,  and  before  1541  sixteen  editions  had  been  pub- 
lished. 

The  translation  was  prohibited  in  1526  by  Tonstall, 
the  bishop  of  London,  and  many  copies  were  burnt  in 
1528.  The  great  Sir  Thomas  More  bitterly  attacked 
Tyndale,  and  accused  him  of  heresy.  '  Our  Saviour 
wyll  saye  to  Tyndale,  Thou  art  accursed  Tyndale,  the 
sonne  of  the  devyll,  for  neyther  fleshe  nor  bloude  hath 


WILLIAM  TYNDALE  133 

taught  the  these  heresyes,  but  thyn  owne  father  the  devyll 
that  is  in  hell.' 

In  1528  Tyndale  wrote  a  work  called  '  Obedience  of  a 
Christian  Man,'  proving  the  need  of  a  circulation  of  the 
scripture  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  In  the  preface  he  says : 

'  Fynally,  that  the  threatenyng  and  forbyddynge  the  lay  people  to 
rede  the  scripture  is  not  for  love  of  your  soules  (whiche  they  care  for  as 
the  foxe  doeth  for  the  gese),  is  evydent  and  clerer  than  the  sonne,  in  as 
moche  as  they  permytte  and  suffre  you  to  reade  Robyn  Hode,  and  Bevys 
of  Hampton,  Hercules,  Hector  and  Troylus,  with  a  thousande  hystoryes 
and  fables  of  love  and  wantones  as  fylthy  as  harte  can  thynke,  to  cor- 
rupte  the  myndes  of  youth  withall,  clene  contrary  to  the  doctryne  of 
Chryst  and  of  His  apostles.' 

Tyndale  then  came  to  live  in  Antwerp,  and  great 
numbers  of  copies  of  the  Testament  found  their  way 
into  England.  A  copy  which  belonged  to  Anne  Boleyn 
came  into  the  hands  of  Henry  VIII.,  who  said,  '  This 
book  is  for  me  and  for  all  kings  to  read.' 

Many  attempts  were  made  by  Tyndale 's  enemies  to 
entice  him  to  England,  and  at  last  he  was  betrayed  by  a 
false  friend,  was  imprisoned  for  two  years  at  Vilvoord, 
near  Brussels,  and  in  September  1536  he  was  strangled 
and  burnt.  His  last  words  were,  '  Lord,  open  the  king 
of  England's  eyes.' 

Tyndale's  translation  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  in 
the  following  extracts  it  will  be  seen  how  much  the 
authorised  version  owes  to  it. 

(MATTHEW  ii.  1-6.) 

When  Jesus  was  borne  in  Bethleem  a  toune  of  Jury,  in  the  tyme  of  king 
Herode.  Beholde  there  cam  wyse  men  from  the  est  to  Jerusalem  saynge : 
Where  is  he  that  is  borne  kynge  of  the  Jues?  We  have  sene  his  starre 
in  the  est,  and  are  come  to  worship  hym.  Herode  the  kynge  after  he  hadd 
herde  thys  was  troubled,  and  all  Jerusalem  with  hym,  and  he  sent  for  all 


134       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  chefe  prestes  and  scribes  off  the  people,  and  demaunded  off  them  where 
Christ  shulde  be  borne.  They  sayde  unto  hym :  in  Bethleem  a  toune 
of  Jury.  For  thus  it  is  written  be  the  prophet ;  and  thou  Bethleem  in 
the  lond  of  Jury,  shalt  not  be  the  leest  as  perteyninge  to  the  princes  of 
Juda.  For  out  of  the  shall  come  a  captaine,  whych  shall  govern  my 
people  Israhel. 

(MATTHEW  vi.  7-14.) 

When  ye  praye,  bable  not  moche  as  the  gentyls  do ;  for  they  thincke 
that  they  shalbe  herde  ffor  there  moche  bablynges  sake.  Be  ye  not  lyke 
them  therefore.  For  youre  father  knoweth  wherof  ye  have  neade  before 
ye  axe  off  him.  After  this  maner  therefore  praye  ye  : 

O  cure  father  which  arte  in  heven,  halowed  be  thy  name.  Let  thy 
kingdom  come.  Thy  wyll  be  fulfilled  as  well  in  erth  as  hit  ys  in  heven. 
Geve  us  this  daye  our  dayly  breade.  And  forgeve  us  oure  treaspases  even 
as  we  forgeve  them  which  treaspas  us.  Leede  us  not  into  temptacion, 
but  delyvre  us  from  yvell.  AMEN. 


SIR   DAVID   LYNDSAY. 

SIR  DAVID  LYNDSAY  of  the  Mount  was  the  most  popular 
of  the  early  Scottish  poets.  He  has  been  called  the 
Langland  of  Scotland,  and  in  his  hatred  of  hypocrisy 
he  may  well  compare  with  the  author  of  '  Piers  Plow- 
man,' but  in  his  merry  wit  and  broad  and  often  coarse 
humour  he  more  resembles  Chaucer.  He  was  born  in 
Fife,  about  1490,  was  educated  at  St.  Andrews,  and  the 
next  name  to  his  on  the  college  roll  is  David  Beaton,  the 
future  cardinal-archbishop. 

In  1511  Lyndsay  was  in  service  at  court,  and  in 
receipt  of  40Z.  a  year,  and  in  the  palace  accounts  there 
is  mention  of  a  payment  for  a  blue  and  yellow  coat  for 
'David  Lyndsay  for  the  play,  playit  in  the  king  and 
queen's  presence  in  the  abbey  of  Holyrood.'  In  1512 


DAVID  LYNDSAY  135 

James  V.  was  born,  and  Lyndsay  was  appointed  chief 
usher  to  the  young  prince.  In  his  poem,  '  The  Dreme,' 
Lyndsay  reminds  James  V.  of  the  time  when  he  sang 
and  capered  for  his  amusement. 

Quhen  thovv  wes  young,  I  bure  tliee  in  myne  arme 
Full  tenderlie,  tyll  thow  begowth  '  to  gang  ; 
And  in  thy  bed  oft  happit 2  thee  full  warme, 
With  lute  in  hand,  syne,  sweitlie  to  thee  sang ; 
Sumtyme,  in  dansing,  feiralie  3 1  flang  ; 
And  sumtyme,  playand  farsis  v  on  the  Sure. 

And  in  a  somewhat  later  poem  he  says : 

As  ane  chapman  beris  his  pak 

I  bure  thy  Grace  upon  my  bak ; 

And  sumtymes,  strydlingis  on  my  nek, 

Dansand  with  mony  bend  and  bek. 

And  ay,  quhen  thow  come  frome  the  scule, 

Than  I  behuffit 5  to  play  the  fule. 

When  James  IV.  fell  at  Flodden  in  1513,  Lyndsay 
continued  in  attendance  on  the  young  king  James  V., 
and  in  1522  he  married  Janet  Douglas,  who  also  was  in 
the  royal  service,  and  who  received  101.  a  year  for  '  sew- 
ing the  Kingis  sarkis.' 

In  1524  changes  took  place  at  court :  the  Earl  of 
Angus  and  the  Douglases  came  into  power,  and 
Lyndsay  retired  to  his  home,  and  there  wrote  his 
'  Dreme  '  and  some  other  poems.  In  '  The  Dreme  '  the 
poet  imagines  himself  under  the  guidance  of  *  Dame 
Kemembrance,'  who  leads  him 

Doun  throw  the  Eird,  in  myddis  of  the  center, 

Or  ever  I  wyste,  in  to  the  la  west  Hell. 
In  to  that  cairfull  cove  quhen  we  did  enter, 

Yowtyng  and  yowlyng  6  we  hard,  with  mony  yell 

In  flame  of  fyre,  rycht  furious  and  fell, 

1  began.        -  wrapped.        3  briskly.        4  antics.        5  behoved. 
8  moaning  and  howling. 


136       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Was  cryand  mony  cairfull  creature, 
Blasphemand  God,  and  waryand  Nature. 

Thare  sawe  we  divers  Papis  and  Empriouris, 

Without  recover,  mony  cairfull  Kyngis  ; 
Thare  saw  we  mony  wrangous  conquerouris, 

Withouttin  rycht,  reiffaris  of  utheris  ryngis  '  ; 

The  men  of  Kirk  lay  boundin  into  byngis  2  ; 
Thare  saw  we  mony  cairfull  Cardinall 
And  Archebischopis,  in  thair  pontificall. 

Thare  was  the  cursit  Empriour  Nero 

Of  everilk  vice  the  horrabyll  veschell  '  ; 
Thare  was  Pharo,  with  divers  Prencis  mo, 

Oppressouris  of  the  barnis  of  Israeli  ; 

Herode,  and  mony  mo  than  I  can  tell, 
Ponce  Pylat  was  thare,  hangit  be  the  hals,4 
With  un  juste  Jugis,  for  thair  sentence  fals. 

Not  only  the  punishment  of  the  wicked  but  also  the 
blessedness  of  the  saints  in  heaven  is  described,  and 
Remembrance  leads  the  poet  from  planet  to  planet  and 
then  back  again  to  earth. 

In  1528  the  young  king  banished  the  Douglases 
from  court,  and  Lyndsay  returned  and  was  appointed 
chief  herald,  with  the  title  of  '  Lyon  King  of  Arms,'  and 
that  honourable  office  he  retained  till  his  death  in  1555. 

In  1539  James  V.  married  Mary  of  Guise,  and  the 
next  year  there  was  exhibited  before  the  king  and  queen, 
at  Linlithgow,  Lyndsay  's  remarkable  play  of  the  '  Three 
Estatis.'  This  is  a  play  of  the  kind  called  '  moralities,' 
in  which  the  vices  and  virtues  appear  as  persons,  and 
Lyndsay  vigorously  scourges  wrongdoers  in  Church  and 


A  young  king  appears  attended  by  Solace  and  Wan- 

1  kingdoms.  -  heaps.  *  slave.  *  neck. 


DAVID  LYNDSAY  137 

tonness,  and  they  tell  of  a  beautiful  lady  Sensuality, 
and  he  is  eager  that  she  should  come : 

Commend  me  to  that  sweitest  thing, 
And  present  hir  with  this  same  ring, 
And  say,  I  ly  in  languisching, 

Except  scho l  mak  remeid. 

After  Sensuality  is  welcomed,  Good  Counsel  appears, 
but  is  not  suffered  to  come  near  the  king.  Then  Verity 
comes  bearing  the  New  Testament  in  her  hand,  but  the 
bishops  charge  her  with  heresy,  and  till  she  can  be  tried 
she  is  put  in  the  stocks.  Chastity  also  comes,  but  she 
is  scouted  by  monks  and  nuns,  bishops  and  priests,  and 
is  sent  to  bear  Verity  company.  At  length  appears 
Divine  Correction,  who  drives  the  vices  away  and  coun- 
sels the  king  to  rule  with  righteousness. 

Connected  with  this  play  there  are  some  amusing 
interludes,  '  The  Sowtar  and  the  Taylour  and  their 
Wives,'  and  '  The  Poor  Man  and  the  Pardoner,'  but  the 
humour  is  very  coarse.  These  interludes  were  intended 
for  the  amusement  of  the  vulgar  spectators  of  the  play, 
while  the  king  and  queen  and  the  nobles  were  taking 
refreshment  between  the  acts. 

In  1542  James  V.  died  broken-hearted  at  Falkland, 
and  within  a  few  years  the  Keformation  broke  out  in 
Scotland.  In  March  1546  Wishart  was  burnt  at  St. 
Andrews,  and  in  May  Cardinal  Beaton  was  murdered. 
Lyndsay's  sympathies  were  with  the  reformers,  and  he 
wrote  a  poem  called  the  '  Tragedie  of  the  Cardinall.' 

The  poet  is  sitting  reading  the  '  Fall  of  Princes  '  of 
John  Bochas,  when  the  murdered  cardinal  appears  and 

tells  his  dismal  story. 

1  she. 


138        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Behald  my  fatall  infylicitie 

I  beand  in  my  strenth  incomparabyll, 
That  dreidfull  dungeoun  maid  me  no  supplye, 

My  gret  rycb.es,  nor  rentis  profitabyll, 

My  sylver  work,  jowellis  inestimabyll, 
My  Papall  pompe,  of  golde  my  ryche  thresoure, 
My  lyfe  and  all,  I  loste  in  half  ane  hour. 

To  the  pepill  wes  maid  ane  spectakle 
Of  my  dede  and  deformit  carioun. 

Sum  said,  it  was  ane  manifeste  myrakle  ; 
Sum  said  it  was  Divine  punitioun 
So  to  be  slane,  in  to  my  strang  dungeoun  : 

Quhen  every  man  had  judgit  as  hym  lyste, 

Thay  saltit  me,  syne  closit  me  in  ane  kyste.1 

In  1553  Lyndsay  completed  his  last  and  greatest  work, 
'  The  Monarchic.'   The  poet  sees  in  a  park  an  aged  man^ 

Quhose  beird  wes  weill  thre  quarter  lang  ; 
His  hair  doun  ouer  his  schulders  hang, 
The  quhilk  as  ony  snaw  wes  quhyte ; 
Quhome  to  behald  I  thocht  delyte. 

The  aged  man  was  named  Experience,  and  the  two  sit 
down  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  and  in  a  long  dialogue 
they  trace  the  story  of  the  world  from  the  Creation  to 
the  Destruction  of  Jerusalem.  Then  the  Papal  dominion  is 
spoken  of,  and  then  death,  resurrection  and  the  judgment 
to  come.  The  sun  is  now  setting  and  Experience  departs. 

I  sped  me  home,  with  heart  syching  -  full  sore, 

And  enterit  in  my  quyet  Oritore. 

I  tuke  paper,  and  thare  began  to  wryt 

This  Miserie,  as  ye  have  hard  afore. 

All  gentyll  Kedaris  hertlye  I  implore 
For  tyll  excuse  my  rurall  rude  indyte, 
Thoucht  Phareseis  wyll  have  at  me  dispyte, 

Quhilkis  wald  not  that  thare  craftynes  wer  kend, 

Latt  God  be  Juge  !  and  so  I  inak  ane  end. 

1  See  Knox's  account  of  the  same  transaction,  page  49. 
8  sighing. 


S7/?  DAVID  LYNDSAY 


139 


In  the  course  of  this  poem  Lyndsay  makes  an  appeal 
for  the  translation  of  the  Bible  into  the  vulgar  tongue. 

The  Father  of  Hevin,  quhilk  wes  and  is  Eternall, 

To  Moyses  gaif  the  Law,  on  Mont  Senay, 

Nocht  into  Greik  nor  Latyne,  I  heir  say. 

He  wrait  the  Law  in  Tablis  hard  of  stone 

In  thare  awin  vulgare  language  of  Hebrew, 

That  all  the  bairns  of  Israeli,  every  one, 

Mycht  knaw  the  Law  and  so  the  same  ensew. 

Had  he  done  wryt  in  Latyne  or  in  Grew,1 

It  had  thane  bene  bot  ane  sawrles  2  jest ; 

Ye  may  weill  wytt  God  wrocht  all  for  the  best. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  introduces  Lyndsay  in  his  poem  of 
'  Marmion,'  and  he  describes  him  thus : 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age  ; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage, 

As  on  King's  errand  come ; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Expression  found  its  home ; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage 
Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age, 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Borne. 


THE   NEW   LEARNING— ASCHAM. 

IN  1453  Constantinople  was  captured  by  the  Turks,  and 
thereupon  many  learned  Greeks  sought  refuge  in  the 
countries  of  Western  Europe.  They  awakened  in  these 
lands  a  love  for  Greek  art  and  Greek  literature :  the  dry 
logic  of  Aristotle,  known  for  the  most  part  in  Latin 
translations  and  compendiums,  gave  place  to  the  poetical 
1  Greek.  2  savourless. 


140       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

wisdom  of  Plato,  and  Sophocles  and  Euripides  were 
studied  with  greater  eagerness  than  Plautus  and  Terence. 
Italy  first  caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  two  of  the 
Popes,  Nicholas  V.  and  Leo  X.,  were  special  patrons  of  the 
new  learning.  In  time  England  also  felt  the  revival, 
and  in  1511  a  new  college,  St.  John's  at  Cambridge,  was 
founded,  which  speedily  gained  great  renown.  A  writer 
eighty  years  later  speaks  of— 

that  most  famous  and  fortunate  nurse  of  all  learning,  Saint  Johnes  in 
Cambridge,  that  at  that  time  was  as  an  university  within  it  selfe  ;  shining 
so  farre  above  all  other  Houses,  Halls,  and  Hospitalls  whatsoever,  that 
no  colledge  in  the  towne  was  able  to  compare  with  the  tythe  of  her 
students  ;  having  more  candles  light  in  it,  every  winter  morning  before 
fowre  of  the  clocke,  than  the  fowre  of  clocke  bell  gave  stroakes. 

One  of  the  most  illustrious  pupils  of  St.  John's  was 
Roger  Ascham,  who  entered  it  in  1530  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 
In  the  same  year  two  Fellows  of  the  College  were  chosen, 
whom  Ascham  ever  afterwards  regarded  with  affectionate 
reverence. 

In  St.  John's  Colledge  in  my  tyme  I  do  know  that  not  so  much  the 
good  statutes,  as  two  gentlemen  of  worthy  memorie,  Syr  John  Cheke 
and  Doctour  Keadman,  by  their  onely  example  of  excellency  in  learnyng 
did  breed  up  so  many  learned  men  in  that  one  Colledge  of  St.  John's,  at 
one  time,  as,  I  beleve,  the  whole  University  of  Louvaine  in  many  yeares 
was  never  able  to  affourd. 

Under  the  teaching  of  such  excellent  masters  Ascham 
made  rapid  progress,  and  in  1534  became  a  Fellow,  and 
in  1538  Greek  reader  to  the  College. 

From  his  youth  he  had  taken  delight  in  athletic 
sports,  and  he  now  wrote  his  *  Toxophilus ;  or,  the  Schole 
of  Shooting.'  In  1545  he  presented  a  copy  of  the  work 
to  Henry  VIII.,  and  received  as  reward  a  pension  of  10Z. 
He  was  soon  afterwards  introduced  to  the  Princess 


THE  NEW  LEARNING— ASCHAM  141 

Elizabeth,  and  in  1548  became  her  private  tutor,  and  read 
with  her  Cicero,  Livy,  Sophocles,  and  other  classical 
authors.  He,  however,  held  the  post  only  for  a  year,  and 
in  1550  he  went  abroad  as  secretary  to  the  ambassador 
to  Charles  V. 

While  on  his  way  to  Dover  to  embark  he  paid  the 
visit  to  Lady  Jane  Grey  which  he  so  beautifully  de- 
scribes. 

Before  I  went  into  Germanic,  I  came  to  Brodegate  in  Leicestershire 
to  take  my  leave  of  that  noble  Ladie  Jane  Grey,  to  whom  I  was  exceding 
moch  beholdinge.  Hir  parentes,  the  Duke  and  Duches,  with  all  the 
household,  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen,  were  huntinge  in  the  Parke ;  I 
founde  her,  in  her  chamber,  readinge  Phaedon  Platonis  in  Greeke,  and 
that  with  as  moch  delite  as  som  gentlemen  wold  read  a  merie  tale  in 
Bocace.  After  salutation  and  dewtie  done,  with  som  other  taulke,  I 
asked  hir,  whie  she  wold  leefe  soch  pastime  in  the  Parke  ?  Smiling  she 
answered  me ;  '  I  wisse  all  their  sporte  in  the  Parke  is  but  a  shadoe  to 
that  pleasure  that  I  find  in  Plato  :  alas,  good  folke,  they  never  felt  what 
trewe  pleasure  ment.' 

While  Ascham  was  abroad  he  visited  Louvain  and 
Cologne  and  other  famous  seats  of  learning,  but  found 
them  inferior  to  his  beloved  St.  John's.  When  Mary 
came  to  the  throne  his  pension  of  10Z.  ceased,  but  he 
received  a  salary  of  20L  as  Latin  secretary  to  the  queen, 
though  he  was  a  Protestant. 

This  salary  was  continued  when  Elizabeth  became 
queen,  and  he  once  more  became  her  private  tutor,  and 
read  Greek  and  played  chess  with  her ;  and  when  he  died, 
in  1568,  she  said  she  would  rather  have  lost  10,OOOZ. 
than  her  old  tutor. 

The  leisure  of  the  last  few  years  of  his  life  was  spent 
in  planning  and  writing  his  most  interesting  work  *  The 
Scholemaster,'  in  which  he  describes  his  own  methods  of 


r42       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

teaching  and  those  of  his  great  master  Sir  John  Cheke, 
and  in  which  he  also  gives  interesting  pictures  of  English 
life  and  manners  in  that  age. 

The  following  is  his  account  of  the  occasion  which 
led  to  his  writing  '  The  Scholemaster ' : 

When  the  great  plage  was  at  London,  the  yeare  1563,  the  Quenes 
Majestic  Queene  Elizabeth,  lay  at  her  Castle  of  Windsore :  where  upon 
the  10th  day  of  December,  it  fortuned,  that  in  Sir  William  Cicell's 
chamber,  hir  Highnesse  Principall  Secretarie,  there  dined  together  several 
personages,  of  which  number  the  most  part  were  of  hir  Majestie's  most 
honourable  privie  counsell,  and  the  rest  serving  hir  in  verie  good  place. 

M.  Secretarie  hath  this  accustomed  maner  though  his  head  be  never 
so  full  of  most  weightie  affaires  of  the  Realme,  yet,  at  diner  time  he  doth 
seeme  to  lay  them  alwaies  aside ;  and  findeth  ever  fitte  occasion  to  taulke 
pleasantlie  of  other  matters,  but  most  gladlie  of  some  matter  of  learning ; 
wherein  he  will  curteslie  heare  the  minde  of  the  meanest  at  his  table. 

Not  long  after  our  sitting  doune,  I  have  strange  newes  brought  me, 
sayth  M.  Secretarie,  this  morning,  that  diverse  scholers  of  Eaton  be  runne 
awaie  from  the  schole,  for  feare  of  beating.  Whereupon  M.  Secretary 
tooke  occasion  to  wishe,  that  some  more  discretion  were  in  many  schole  - 
masters,  in  using  correction,  than  commonlie  there  is.  Who  many  times 
punishe  rather  the  weakenes  of  nature,  than  the  fault  of  the  scholer. 
Whereby,  many  scholers,  that  might  else  prove  well,  be  driven  to  hate 
learning  before  they  knowe  what  learning  meaneth ;  and  so  are  made  willing 
to  forsake  their  booke,  and  be  glad  to  be  put  to  any  other  kind  of  living. 


ITALIAN    INFLUENCE— LORD   SURREY. 

ASCHAM  speaks  bitterly  in  *  The  Scholemaster '  of  the 
custom  prevailing  in  his  day  of  sending  young  English 
gentlemen  into  Italy  to  be  educated.  Not  that  he  dis- 
liked or  undervalued  the  Italian  language,  '  which,  next 
the  Greeke  and  Latin  tonge,  I  like  and  love  above  all 
other,'  but  because  of  the  evil  influences  to  which  young 
men  were  exposed  in  that  land. 


ITALIAN  INFLUENCE— LORD   SURREY         143 

They  have  in  more  reverence  the  triumphes  of  Petrarche,  than  the 
Genesis  of  Moses ;  they  make  more  account  of  a  tale  in  Bocace,  than  a  storie 
of  the  Bible.  They  count  as  fables  the  holie  misteries  of  Christian  Eeligion. 
...  I  was  once  in  Italic  my  self  e,  but  I  thanke  God  my  abode  there  was  but 
ix  dayes  ;  and  yet  I  sawe  in  that  little  tyme,  in  one  citie,  more  libertie  to 
sinne,  than  ever  I  heard  tell  of  in  our  noble  citie  of  London  in  ix  yeare. 

Petrarch  was  at  that  time  the  favourite  poet  of  Italy, 
and  his  songs  in  praise  of  his  Mistress  Laura  were  the 
great  models  of  composition,  not  only  in  Italy,  but  also 
in  the  brilliant  and  festive  courts  of  Henry  VIII.  and 
Francis  I.  Henry  himself  wrote  songs,  and  one  has 
been  preserved  which  was  addressed  to  Anne  Boleyn. 
It  begins  thus  : 

The  eagles  force  subdues  eche  byrde  that  flyes  ; 

What  metal  can  resyste  the  flamyng  fyre  ? 
Doth  not  the  sunne  dazle  the  cleareste  eyes, 

And  melt  the  yce,  and  make  the  froste  retyre  ? 

In  1557,  Tottel  the  printer  published  a  book  of '  Songes 
and  Sonnettes  '  by  various  authors,  which  book  became 
a  favourite  and  was  soon  reprinted.  In  the  '  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,'  Master  Slender  at  sight  of  '  sweet 
Anne  Page '  would  give  forty  shillings  to  have  his  *  Book 
of  Songs  and  Sonnettes  '  with  him.  Again,  Shakespeare 
quotes  from  this  book  the  gravedigger's  song  in  '  Hamlet,' 
'  In  youth  when  I  did  love,  did  love.' 

The  authors  were  gentlemen  of  King  Henry's  court, 
and  chief  among  them  were  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  and 
Henry  Earl  of  Surrey.  Puttenham,  a  writer  in  Eliza- 
beth's time,  in  his  '  Arte  of  English  Poesie  '  says  : 

In  the  latter  end  of  King  Henry's  raigne  spronge  up  a  new  company 
of  courtly  makers  of  whom  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  the  elder  and  Henry  earle 
of  Surrey  were  the  two  chieftaines,  who  having  travailed  into  Italic  and 
there  tasted  the  sweete  and  stately  measures  and  stile  of  the  Italian 


/44       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

poesie,  they  greatly  polished  our  rude  and  homely  manner  of  vulgar 
poesie  from  that  it  had  been  before  and  for  that  cause  may  justly  be 
sayd  the  first  reformers  of  our  English  meeter  and  stile. 

Henry  Howard,  the  young  Earl  of  Surrey,  was  born 
about  1516,  and  in  his  youth  was  a  companion  at 
Windsor  of  King  Henry's  natural  son,  the  young  Duke  of 
Eichmond.  In  later  years,  when  Kichmond  was  dead, 
and  when  Surrey  himself  was  a  prisoner  at  Windsor,  he 
recalls  these  happy  days  of  youth. 

Proude  Windsor !     Where  I,  in  lust  and  joy, 
Wyth  a  kynges  sonne  my  childyshe  years  did  passe, 
In  greater  f castes  than  Priam's  sonnes  of  Troye. 

Where  eche  swete  place  returnes  a  taste  full  sower, 
The  large  grene  courtes  where  we  were  wont  to  hove,1 

Wyth  eyes  cast  up  into  the  mayden's  tower» 
And  easy  sighes,  such  as  folke  draw  in  love. 

The  stately  seates,  the  ladies  bright  of  hewe, 
The  daunces  shorte,  long  tales  of  great  delight, 

With  wordes  and  lookes  that  tygers  could  but  rewe, 
Where  ech  of  us  dyd  pleade  the  others  right. 

The  secret  groves  which  ofte  we  made  resounde 
Of  pleasaunt  playn,  and  of  our  ladies  prayse, 

Eecordyng  ofte  what  grace  eche  one  had  found, 
What  hope  of  speede,  what  dreade  of  long  delayes. 

0  place  of  blisse,  renewer  of  my  woes  ! 
Give  me  accompt,  where  is  my  noble  fere,- 

Whom  in  thy  walles  thou  didst  eche  night  enclose, 
To  other  leefe,8  but  unto  me  most  dere. 

From  Windsor  the  youths  went  together  to  Oxford 
and  afterwards  to  France,  and  continued  in  the  closest 
friendship  and  alliance  until  Richmond's  death  in  1536. 

Surrey's  love  sonnets  are  mostly  in  praise  of  the 
'  Fair  Geraldine,'  who  is  thus  described : 

1  hover,  loiter.  -  companion.  3  dear. 


ITALIAN  INFLUENCE— LORD  SURREY         145 

From  Tuskane  came  my  ladies  worthy  race  ; 

Faire  Florence  was  sometyme  her  auncient  seate ; 
The  westerne  yle,  whose  pleasant  shore  doth  face 

Wild  Camber's  cliffs,  furst  gave  her  lively  heate ; 
Fostred  she  was  with  milke  of  Irishe  brest ; 

Her  sire  an  earle  ;  her  dame  of  princes  blood  ; 
From  tender  yeres  in  Britain  did  she  rest 

With  a  kinges  child,  who  tasteth  ghostly  food. 
Honsdon  did  first  present  her  to  mine  eyen  ; 

Bright  is  her  hewe,  and  Geraldine  she  hight. 
Hampton  me  taught  to  wish  her  first  for  mine 

And  Windsor,  alas  !  doth  chase  me  from  her  sight. 

It  appears  that  this  lady  was  one  of  the  three 
daughters  of  the  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  that  she  spent  her 
youth  at  Hunsdon  with  the  Princesses  Mary  and  Eliza- 
beth, while  Surrey  was  at  Windsor  with  Kichmond. 
One  feels  somewhat  disappointed  to  find  that  Surrey 
married  not  her  but  another. 

After  making  the  grand  tour  of  Europe,  Surrey  re- 
turned home  '  the  most  elegant  traveller,  the  most  polite 
lover,  the  most  learned  nobleman,  and  the  most  accom- 
plished gentleman  of  his  age.'  With  his  father,  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  he  led  an  army  into  Scotland  in  1542,  and 
he  afterwards  led  the  English  army  into  France,  and  he 
was  appointed  governor  of  Boulogne  in  1545.  But  he 
soon  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  king,  was  recalled 
to  England,  and  not  long  afterwards  he  was  condemned 
on  various  frivolous  charges,  and  was  executed  in  1547. 

Not  all  of  Surrey's  poetical  works  were  love  songs. 
He  made  a  metrical  version  of  part  of  the  book  of 
Ecclesiastes,  and  did  the  same  with  certain  of  the 
Psalms.  He  also  made  a  spirited  translation  of  the 
second  and  fourth  books  of  Virgil's  Aeneid,  and  would 


146        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

probably  have  finished  the  whole  work   had   he   lived. 
The  following  lines  describe  Dido  going  to  the  chase : 

At  the  threshold  of  her  chaumber-dore 
The  Carthage  lords  did  on  the  Quene  attend  ; 
The  trampling  steede,  with  gold  and  purple  trapt, 
Chawing  the  fome  bit  there  fiercely  stood. 
Then  issued  she,  awayted  with  great  train 
Clad  in  a  cloke  of  Tyre  embradred  riche. 
Her  quyver  hung  behinde  her  back,  her  tresse 
Knotted  in  gold,  her  purple  vesture  eke 
Butned  with  gold.     The  Troyans  of  her  train 
Before  her  go,  with  gladsom  lulus. 
Aeneas  eke  the  goodliest  of  the  route 
Makes  one  of  them,  and  joyneth  close  the  throng. 


SIR   PHILIP   SIDNEY. 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  was  born  in  1554,  at  Penshurst  in 
Kent,  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  family.  His  grand- 
father fought  at  Flodden,  and  his  father  was  in  his 
youth  a  friend  and  companion  of  Edward  VI.,  and  after- 
wards was  for  many  years  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland. 

The  pleasant  country  seat  of   Penshurst  has  been 
charmingly  described  by  Ben  Jonson. 

Thou  hast  thy  walkes  for  health  as  well  as  sport, 
Thy  mount,  to  which  the  Dryads  do  resort, 
Where  Pan  and  Bacchus  their  high  feasts  have  made, 
Beneath  the  broad  beech  and  the  chestnut  shade  ; 
That  taller  tree  which  of  a  nut  was  set, 
At  his  great  birth  where  all  the  Muses  met. 

This  tree,  planted  in  honour  of  Philip's  birth,  lived  for 
more  than  two  hundred  years,  and  was  cut  down  in 
1768.  Philip  was  sent  to  Shrewsbury  School  and  after- 
wards to  Oxford,  gaining  golden  opinions  everywhere. 
His  life-long  friend,  Fulke  Greville,  says  of  him : 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  I47 

6  Though  I  lived  with  him,  and  knew  him  from  a  child, 
yet  I  never  knew  him  other  than  a  man,  with  such 
staiedness  of  mind,  lovely  and  familiar  gravity,  as 
carried  grace  and  reverence  above  greater  years.' 

In  1572  he  was  with  the  English  ambassador  in 
Paris,  and  witnessed  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew ; 
then  for  two  more  years  he  travelled  through  Germany 
and  Italy,  and  in  1575  he  was  back  again  in  the  English 
court.  He  was  in  the  queen's  train  at  the  festivities  at 
Kenilworth,  and  went  with  her  to  Chartley,  the  seat  of 
the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  he  met  there  for  the  first  time 
the  earl's  daughter,  the  Lady  Penelope  Devereux.  The 
earl  admired  and  loved  him,  and  from  his  death-bed 
next  year  he  sent  him  the  message :  '  Tell  him  I  wish 
him  well ;  so  well  that,  if  God  do  move  their  hearts,  I 
wish  that  he  might  match  with  my  daughter.  I  call  him 
son ;  he  is  so  wise,  virtuous  and  godly.' 

Unhappily  the  match  was  never  made,  partly  through 
Sidney's  own  fault.  Some  four  or  five  years  later  the 
lady  was  married  to  Lord  Eich,  a  man  utterly  un- 
worthy of  her,  and  Sidney  was  inconsolable,  and  he 
gave  vent  to  his  sorrow  in  the  famous  sonnets  of  '  Astro- 
phel  and  Stella.'  In  one  of  these  he  recalls  the  time 
when  from  the  windows  of  her  father's  house  he  saw 
her  rowed  over  the  bosom  of  the  Thames. 

0  happie  Terns  !  that  didst  my  Stella  beare. 

1  saw  thyselfe  with  many  a  smiling  line 
Upon  thy  cheerefull  face,  Joyes  livery  wear  ; 
While  those  faire  planets  on  thy  streames  did  shine, 
The  boate,  for  joy,  could  not  to  daunce  forbeare  : 
While  wanton  windes,  with  beauties  so  divine 
Eavisht,  staid  not,  till  in  her  golden  haire 

They  did  themselves  (0  sweetest  prison  !)  twine. 

L2 


148       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  another  sonnet  he  plays  upon  her  new  name  of 
Rich. 

Towards  Aurora's  court,  a  nymph  doth  dwell 
Rich  in  all  beauties  which  man's  eye  can  see  : 
Beauties  so  farre  from  reach  of  words,  that  we 
Abuse  her  praise  saying  she  doth  excell ; 
Rich  in  the  treasure  of  deserved  renowne , 
Rich  in  the  riclws  of  a  royall  hart ; 
Rich  in  those  gifts,  which  give  th'  eternall  crowne ; 
Who  though  most  rich  in  these  and  every  part, 
Which  makes  the  patents  of  true  worldly  blisse, 
Hath  no  misfortune,  but  that  Rich  she  is. 

The  following  sonnet  surpasses  any  which  liad  yet 
appeared  in  English  literature,  and  almost  anticipates 
the  beauty  of  Shakespeare's : 

With  how  sad  steps,  0  Moone  !  thou  climb'st  the  skies 

How  silently  I  and  with  how  wanne  a  face  ! 

What  may  it  be  that  even  in  heavenly  place 

That  busie  archer  his  sharpe  arrowes  tries  ? 

Sure,  if  that  long  with  love  acquainted  eyes 

Can  judge  of  love,  thou  feel'st  a  lover's  case. 

I  reade  it  in  thy  lookes.     Thy  languisht  grace 

To  me  that  feele  the  like,  thy  state  descries. 

Then  even  of  fellowship,  0  Moone  !  tell  me, 

Is  constant  love  deemed  there,  but  want  of  wit  ? 

Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be  ? 

Doe  they  above  love  to  be  loved ;  and  yet 

Those  lovers  scorne  whom  that  love  doth  possesse  ? 

Doe  they  call  virtue  there,  ungratefulnesse  ? 

But  these  sonnets  belong  to  a  somewhat  later  time, 
and  we  must  go  back  a  few  years  again.  In  1577  Eliza- 
beth sent  Sidney  on  a  mission  to  Germany,  and  in  the 
Netherlands  he  met  William  the  Silent  and  Don  John  of 
Austria,  and  he  left  a  lasting  impression  of  himself  in  the 
minds  of  these  two  illustrious  men.  In  1578  he  was 
9.gain  in  England,  and  wrote  the  court  mask  of  the  '  Lady 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  149 

of  the  May.'  In  1580  he  was  in  disgrace  at  court  on 
account  of  his  opposition  to  the  proposed  marriage  of 
Elizabeth  to  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  He  withdrew  to  Wilton, 
the  seat  of  his  sister  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  and  there 
for  her  diversion  he  wrote  the  famous  romance  of  the 
'  Arcadia.' 

The  story  is  of  two  dear  friends,  Musidorus,  Prince 
of  Thessaly,  and  Pyrocles,  Prince  of  Macedon,  and  of 
their  adventures  in  the  land  of  Arcadia.  The  king  of 
that  country  has  two  daughters,  Pamela  and  Philoclea, 
with  whom  the  princes  fall  in  love,  and  in  order  to  be 
near  them  they  assume  strange  names  and  disguises, 
Musidorus  appearing  as  the  shepherd  Dorus,  and  Pyrocles 
as  an  Amazon  under  the  name  of  Zelmane.  The  story 
is  long  and  involved,  like  all  the  old  prose  romances, 
but  the  language  is  melodious,  and  Sidney  has  been  well 
described  as  a  'warbler  of  poetic  prose.' 

The  following  lines  are  taken  from  the  description  of 
the  place  where  the  Arcadian  peasantry  meet  for  their 
rustic  games : 

It  was  indeede  a  place  of  delight,  for  through  the  middest  of  it  there 
ran  a  sweet  brooke,  which  did  both  hold  the  eie  open  with  her  azure 
streames,  and  yet  seeke  to  close  the  eie  with  the  purling  noise  it  made 
upon  the  pibble  stones  it  ranne  over,  the  field  itselfe  being  set  in  some 
places  with  roses,  and  in  all  the  rest  constantly  preserving  a  flourishing 
greene;  the  roses  added  such  a  ruddie  shew  unto  it  as  though  the  field 
were  bashfull  at  his  own  beautie  about  it. 

The  silent  growth  of  love  in  the  heart  of  Philoclea 
for  the  beautiful  Amazon  is  thus  described  : 

First  shee  would  wish  that  they  two  might  live  all  their  lives  together, 
like  two  of  Diana's  nymphes  ;  but  that  wish  shee  thought  not  sufficient, 
because  she  knew  there  would  be  more  nymphes  besides  them,  who  also 
would  have  their  part  in  Zelmane.  Then  would  shee  wish  that  shee  were 


1 50       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

her  sister,  that  such  a  naturall  band  might  make  her  more  speciall  to 
her  ;  but  against  that  shee  considered  that  though  being  her  sister,  if  shee 
happened  to  be  married,  shee  should  be  robbed  of  her.  Then,  growne 
bolder,  shee  would  wish  either  herself e  or  Zelmane  a  man,  that  there 
might  succeede  a  blessed  mariage  betweene  them  ;  but  when  that  wish 
had  once  displayed  his  ensigne  in  her  minde,  then  followed  whole 
squadrons  of  longings  that  so  it  might  be,  with  a  maine  battle  of  mis- 
likings  and  repinings  against  their  creation  that  so  it  was  not. 

In  1581  Sidney  wrote  another  great  work,  his  '  Apo- 
logy for  Poetrie.'  Two  years  before,  Stephen  Gosson 
had  written  his  *  Schoole  of  Abuse,'  an  '  invective  against 
Poets,  Pipers,  Plaiers,  Jesters,  and  such-like  Caterpillers 
of  a  Commonwelth,'  and  he  dedicated  the  work  (probably 
without  leave)  to  Sidney.  The  *  Apology  for  Poetrie' 
is  a  noble  setting  forth  of  the  office  of  the  poet,  who  is 
not  simply  the  writer  of  verses,  but  every  writer  whose 
work  is  the  creation  of  the  imagination. 

Truely,  even  Plato,  whosoever  well  considereth  shall  find  that  in  the 
body  of  his  work,  though  the  inside  and  strength  were  Philosophy,  the 
skinne  as  it  were  and  beautie,  depended  most  of  Poetrie  ;  for  all  standeth 
upon  Dialogues  wherein  he  faineth  many  honest  Burgesses  of  Athens 
to  speake  of  such  matters,  that  if  they  had  been  sette  on  the  racke,  they 
would  never  have  confessed  them.  Besides,  his  poetical  describing  the 
circumstances  of  their  meetings,  as  the  well  ordering  of  a  banquet,  the 
delicacie  of  a  walke,  with  enterlacing  meere  tales,  as  Giges  King,  and 
others,  which  who  knoweth  not  to  be  flowers  of  Poetrie,  did  never  walke 
into  Appolo's  Garden. 

He  tells  us  that  the  Philosopher,  the  Historian,  and 
the  Poet  all  strive  to  incite  men  to  lead  noble  lives,  but 
the  last  with  most  success. 

For  the  Philosopher,  setting  down  with  thorny  argument  the  bare 
rule,  is  so  hard  of  utterance,  and  so  misty  to  be  conceived,  that  one  that 
hath  no  other  guide  but  him,  shall  wade  in  him  till  he  be  olde,  before 
he  shall  finde  sufficient  cause  to  be  honest.  On  the  other  side  the  His- 
torian wanting  the  precept  is  so  tyed,  not  to  what  should  be  but  to  what 


SIR  PHILIP   SIDNEY  151 

is,  to  the  particular  truth  of  things  and  not  to  the  general  reason  of 
things,  that  his  example  draweth  no  necessary  consequence,  and  there- 
fore a  lesse  fruitfull  doctrine. 

Nowe  dooth  the  peerelesse  Poet  performe  both ;  for  whatsoever  the 
Philosopher  sayth  shoulde  be  doone,  he  giveth  a  perfect  picture  of  it  in 
some  one  by  whom  he  presupposeth  it  was  done.  A  perfect  picture  I  say, 
for  he  yeeldeth  to  the  powers  of  the  minde,  an  image  of  that  whereof 
the  Philosopher  bestoweth  but  a  woordish  description ;  which  dooth 
neyther  strike,  pierce,  nor  possesse  the  sight  of  the  soule,  so  much  as 
that  other  dooth. 

In  1582  Sidney's  eyes  were  turned  with  longing  to 
America,  and  Elizabeth  gave  him  a  grant  of  land  in 
Virginia,  but  would  not  permit  him  to  go  there,  and  in 
the  next  year  he  married  the  daughter  of  the  queen's 
faithful  minister  Walsingham. 

In  1584  the  Prince  of  Orange  was  murdered,  and 
Elizabeth  was  constrained  to  aid  the  Dutch  in  their 
struggle  for  freedom.  Troops  were  sent  over  under  the 
command  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  Sidney  was  made 
Governor  of  Flushing.  In  September  1586  he  fell  sorely 
wounded  in  the  fight  at  Zutphen,  lingered  for  twenty-six 
days,  and  died  in  October.  In  November  his  body  was 
brought  home,  and  in  the  following  February  he  was 
buried  with  great  splendour  in  St.  Paul's. 


THE   REFORMERS— LATIMER,  KNOX. 

ENGLISH  literature  owes  much  to  the  Keformation  of 
Eeligion,  which  cleared  away  prejudices,  stimulated  the 
spirit  of  inquiry,  and  set  free  the  judgment.  The 
direct  contributions  of  the  Eeformers  themselves  were 
not  inconsiderable.  The  noble  translation  of  the  Bible 


1 52       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

is  based  upon  the  labours  of  Tyndale,  and  to  Cranmer 
chiefly  we  owe  the  simple  and  beautiful  prayers  of  the 
Liturgy. 

Two  of  the  Eeformers,  Latimer  in  England  and 
Knox  in  Scotland,  the  first  in  his  sermons,  the  second  in 
his  History,  give  such  graphic  pictures  of  their  own 
times  that  it  may  be  well  to  say  a  few  words  about  each. 

Hugh  Latimer  was  born  at  Thurcaston,  in  Leicester- 
shire, in  1491. 

My  father  was  a  Yoman  and  had  no  landes  of  his  owne,  onlye  he 
had  a  farme  of  iii  or  iv  pound  by  yere  at  the  uttermost,  and  hereupon 
he  tilled  so  much  as  kepte  halfe  a  dosen  men.  He  had  walke  for  a 
hundred  shepe  and  my  mother  mylked  xxx  kyne.  He  was  able  and  did 
find  the  king  a  harnesse,  with  hym  selfe  and  hys  horsse,  while  he  came 
to  the  place,  that  he  should  receyve  the  kynges  wages.  I  can  remembre, 
that  I  buckled  hys  harnes,  when  he  went  unto  Blackheeath  felde. 

At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge,  and 
ten  years  later  he  was  professor  of  Greek  in  the  Uni- 
versity. He  studied  with  ardour  Duns  Scotus,  Thomas 
Aquinas,  and  other  scholastic  doctors,  and  dissuaded  his 
companions  from  the  study  of  the  Bible,  till  his  heart 
was  touched  by  the  words  of  Bilney,  who  afterwards 
suffered  as  a  martyr. 

Maister  Bilney  (or  rather  Saint  Bilney  that  suffred  death  for  God's 
worde  sake)  was  the  instrument  whereby  God  called  me  to  knowledge. 
For  I  was  as  obstinate  a  papist  as  any  was  in  England,  in  so  much  that 
when  I  should  be  made  Bachelor  of  Divinitie,  my  whole  oration  went 
agaynst  Philip  Melancthon  and  agaynst  his  opinions.  Bilney  heard  me 
at  that  time  and  perceived  that  I  was  zealous  without  knowledge,  and 
he  came  to  me  afterward  in  my  study,  and  desired  me  for  God's  sake  to 
heare  his  confession  and  I  did  so.  And  to  say  the  trueth,  by  his  con- 
fession I  learned  more  than  before  in  many  yeares.  So  from  that  time 
forward  I  began  to  smell  the  word  of  God,  and  forsooke  the  Schoole 
Doctoures  and  such  fooleries. 


HUGH  LA  TIMER  153 

In  1530  he  was  called  to  preaeh  before  the  king,  and 
he  did  so  again  in  1534,  and  was  heard  with  such  favour 
that  next  year  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Worcester.  This 
dignity  he  resigned  in  1539,  as  he  did  not  approve  of  the 
king's  measures,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  reign  he  was  in 
disgrace  and  was  commanded  to  silence. 

With  the  accession  of  Edward  VI.  Latimer  was  once 
more  in  favour,  and  had  he  been  willing  he  would  once 
more  have  been  Bishop  of  Worcester.  '  A  pulpit  was  set 
up  in  the  King's  privie  garden  at  Westminster  and 
therein  Doctor  Latimer  preached  before  the  king,  where 
he  mought  be  heard  of  more  than  foure  times  so  manie 
people  as  could  have  stood  in  the  king's  chapell.'  In 
this  place  or  at  St.  Paul's  Cross  he  preached  in  1548 
and  the  two  following  years.  Then  he  went  down  into 
Lincolnshire  and  remained  there  till  Edward  died,  and 
twenty-eight  of  his  Lincolnshire  sermons  have  been 
preserved.  When  Mary  became  queen,  Latimer  was 
brought  to  London,  cast  into  the  Tower,  then  was 
imprisoned  at  Oxford,  and  there,  in  October  1555,  he  was 
burnt  with  Kidley. 

The  language  of  Latimer's  sermons  is  vigorous  and 
effective,  full  of  homely  wit  and  racy  anecdotes  and 
illustrations.  Sometimes  he  chides  the  idle  bishops  who 
neglect  their  flocks  : 

Who  is  the  most  diligent  bishoppe  and  prelate  in  al  England,  that 
passeth  al  the  reste  in  doinge  his  office,  I  can  tel,  for  I  knowe  him,  who 
it  is  I  knowe  hym  well.  But  nowe  I  thynke  I  se  you  lysting  and  heark- 
ening that  I  shoulde  name  him.  There  is  one  that  passeth  al  the  other, 
and  is  the  most  diligent  prelate  and  preacher  in  al  England.  And  wyl 
ye  knowe  who  it  is  ?  I  wyl  tel  you.  It  is  the  Devyl.  He  is  the  moste 
dyligent  preacher  of  al  other,  he  is  never  out  of  his  dioces,  he  is  never 


154       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

from  his  cure,  ye  shal  never  fynde  hym  unoccupyed,  he  is  ever  in  his 
parishe,  he  keepeth  residence  at  al  tymes,  ye  shal  never  fynde  hym  out 
of  the  waye,  cal  for  him  when  you  wyl,  he  is  ever  at  home. 

Or  he  mocks  at  the  loose  lives  of  many  of  the  clergy : 

There  was  a  merye  moncke  in  Cambryge  in  the  colledge  that  I  was 
in,  and  it  chaunced  a  greate  companye  of  us  to  be  together,  entendynge 
to  make  good  cheare,  and  to  be  merye.  One  of  the  company  brought 
out  thys  sentence.  Nil  mclius  quarn  Utari  et  Jacere  bene.  There  is 
nothyng  better  than  to  be  mery  and  to  do  well.  A  vengeaunce  of  that 
Bene  (quod  the  monke)  I  would  that  Bcnc  had  bene  banished  beyonde 
the  sea,  if  that  Bene  were  out,  it  were  well.  For  I  coulde  be  mery,  and 
I  coulde  do,  but  I  love  not  to  do  well,  that  Bene  marres  altogether. 

Or  he  reproves  the  wickedness  of  London : 

O  London,  repent,  repente.  Thou  heareste  thy  faultes  tolde  the,  amend 
them,  amend  them.  I  thinke  if  Nebo  had  had  the  preachynge  that  thou 
haste,  they  wold  have  converted.  What  a  do  was  there  made  in  London 
at  a  certein  man  because  he  sayd,  and  indede  at  that  time  on  a  just 
cause.  Burgesses  quod  he,  nay  butterflies.  Lorde  what  a  do  there  was 
for  that  worde.  And  yet  would  God  they  were  no  worse  then  butterflies. 
Butterfly es  do  but  theyre  nature,  the  butterflye  is  not  covetouse,  is  not 
gredye  of  other  mens  goodes,  is  not  ful  of  envy  and  hatred,  is  not  mali- 
cious, is  not  cruel,  is  not  mercilesse.  In  tymes  past  men  were  full  of 
pytie  and  compassion,  but  nowe  there  is  no  pitie,  for  in  London  their 
brother  shal  die  in  the  streetes  for  colde,  he  shall  lye  sycke  at  theyr 
doore  betwene  stocke  and  stocke.  Was  there  any  more  unmercifulnes 
in  Nebo  ?  I  thynke  not. 

John  Knox  was  born  near  Haddington  in  1505,  and 
it  is  thought  that  he  studied  in  the  universities  both  of 
St.  Andrews  and  Glasgow.  Like  Latimer  he  was  fond 
at  first  of  the  scholastic  philosophy,  and  as  Latimer 
learned  better  things  from  Bilney,  so  Knox  was  kindled 
with  enthusiasm  for  a  pure  gospel  by  the  example  of 
George  Wishart,  who  was  burnt  at  St.  Andrews  in 
March  1546.  Swift  retribution  for  this  cruel  deed  fell 
upon  Beaton,  the  cardinal-archbishop,  who  thought  him- 


JOHN  KNOX  155 

self  safe  in  his  strong  castle  of  St.  Andrews,  for  in  the 
May  following  a  small  band  of  determined  men  seized 
the  castle. 

The  Cardinnal  wacknit  with  the  schoutis,  askit  frome  his  window, 
Quhat  meinit  that  noyis?  It  was  answerit,  that  Normond  Leslie  had 
taikin  his  castell :  whiche  understande,  he  ran  to  the  posterne,  hot  per- 
ceaving  the  passage  to  be  keipit  without,  he  returnit  quicklie  to  his 
chalmer  and  tuk  his  two  handit  sword  and  garth  *  chalmer  chyld  cast 
kistis  and  uther  impediments  to  the  dure.  And  as  the  dure  was  verie 
stark  there  was  brocht  ane  chimlay  full  of  burning  coallis,  quhilk  perceavit 
the  Cardinall  or  his  chalmer  chyld  oppinit  the  dure  and  the  Cardinall 
sat  down  in  a  chayre  and  cryit,  I  ame  a  priest,  I  ame  a  priest,  ye  will 
not  slay  me.  Bot  James  Melvell  a  man  of  nature  most  gentill  and  most 
modest  presenting  unto  him  the  point  of  the  sword,  said  Repent  the  of 
thyne  former  wickit  lyif,  but  cspeciallie  of  the  schedding  of  the  bluid  of 
that  notable  instrument  of  God,  Mr.  George  Wishart,  whiche  albeit  the 
flame  of  fyre  consumit  befoir  men,  yet  cry  is  it,  a  vengeance  upoun  the  ; 
and  we  from  God  are  sent  to  revenge  it.  And  so  he  straik  him  twys  or 
thryis  throw  with  a  stoge  sword ;  and  so  he  fell,  nevir  word  hard  out 
of  his  mouthe,  bot  I  ame  a  priest,  I  ame  a  priest,  fy,  fy,  all  is  gone. 

Now  becaus  the  wedder  was  hotte,  for  it  was  in  Maii,  and  his 
funerallis  culd  not  suddantlie  be  prepaired,  it  was  thocht  best  to  give 
him  grit  salt  yneuche,  a  cope  of  leid,  and  a  nuck  in  the  bottome  of  the 
seytour,  a  plaice  quhair  mony  of  God's  children  had  bein  imprisonit 
befour,  to  await  quhat  exequies  his  brethren  the  bischopis  wold  prepair 
for  him. 

These  thingis  we  wrytte  merrille,  bot  we  would  that  the  reidar  sould 
observe  God's  just  judgmentis,  and  how  that  he  can  deprehend  the 
warldlie  wyis  in  thair  a  win  wisdome,  mak  thair  tabill  to  be  a  snair  to 
trappe  thair  awin  feit,  and  thair  awin  presupposit  strenth  to  be  thair 
destruction. 

Into  this  castle  of  St.  Andrews  Knox  himself  with 
others  retired  for  refuge  in  the  following  year,  1547, 
and  there  he  received  a  solemn  call  from  the  assembled 
congregation  to  be  their  minister. 

Quhairat  the  said  Johne  abashed,  brust  furthe  in  maist  aboundant 
tearis,  and  withdrew  himself  to  his  chalmer ;  his  countenance  and  be- 

1  bid. 


156       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

haviour  from  that  day,  till  the  day  that  he  was  compelled  to  present 
himself  to  the  publict  plaice  of  preiching,  did  sufficientlie  declair  the 
greif  and  trobill  of  his  hairt ;  for  no  man  saw  ony  signe  of  mirthe  of 
him,  nether  yit  had  he  plesour  to  accumpany  ony  man,  monye  dayis 
togithir. 

A  few  months  later  the  castle  was  taken  by  the 
French,  and  Knox  and  others  were  made  prisoners  and 
served  in  the  French  galleys. 

Sone  efter  thair  arryvell  at  Nances,  thair  girt  Salve  Regina  was 
sung  and  a  glorious  painted  ladie  was  brocht  in  to  be  kissit,  and  amongest 
utheris  was  presented  to  one  of  the  Scottis  men  then  chainyeid.  He 
gentillie  said:  Trublc  me  not ;  sucJie  ane  idolle  is  accursit :  and  thairfoir 
I  will  not  tuichc  it.  The  patrone  with  two  officers  said,  Thou  sail 
handle  it.  And  so  they  violentlie  thrust  it  to  his  faice,  and  pat  it  betwix 
his  hands,  who  seing  the  extremitie  tuke  the  idolle  and  advysitlie  luik- 
ing  about,  he  caist  it  in  the  Rever,  and  said,  Lat  our  Ladie  now  save 
hirself;  sche  is  lycht  aneuche,  lat  Mr  leirne  to  swyme. 

A  little  while  later  the  galleys  were  lying  off  the 
coast  of  Scotland,  opposite  St.  Andrews,  and  Knox  was 
very  sick.  A  companion  asked  him  if  he  knew  the 
place,  and  he  answered  : 

Yis,  I  knaw  it  weil ;  for  I  sie  the  steiple  of  that  plaice  quhair  God 
first  opinit  my  mouth  in  publict  to  his  glorie,  and  I  ame  fullie  perswadit 
how  waik  that  evir  I  now  appeir,  that  I  sail  not  depart  this  lyif,  till  that 
my  toung  sail  glorifie  his  godlie  name  in  the  same  place. 

In  1549  Knox  was  once  more  at  liberty,  and  he  came 
to  England,  where  he  was  welcomed  by  Edward  VI., 
Cranmer,  and  other  reformers.  He  remained  four  or 
five  years,  was  made  one  of  the  king's  chaplains,  was 
offered  a  living  in  London  and  the  bishopric  of  Kochester, 
but  he  refused  these  preferments.  He  preached  in 
London,  Berwick,  Newcastle,  and  other  parts  of  the 
country,  and  there  is  preserved  a  portion  of  a  sermon 
which  'with  sorrowful  heart  and  weeping  eyes  he 


JOHN  KNOX  157 

preached   at   Ammersham   in    Buckinghamshire    when 
news  came  of  Edward's  death.' 

O  England,  England,  dost  thou  not  consider  that  thy  common- 
wealth is  like  a  ship  sailing  on  the  sea,  if  thy  mariners  and  governours 
shall  so  consume  one  another  shalt  thou  not  suffer  shipwrack  in  short 
process  of  time  ?  0  England,  England,  alas  !  these  plagues  are  poured 
upon  thee,  because  thou  wouldst  not  know  thy  most  happy  time  of  thy 
most  gentle  visitation. 

England  under  Queen  Mary  and  Scotland  under  the 
Queen  Kegent,  Mary  of  Guise,  were  no  safe  places  for 
Knox,  and  from  1553  to  1559  he  was  a  wanderer,  rest- 
ing sometimes  at  Dieppe,  sometimes  at  Frankfort,  some- 
times at  Geneva,  and  for  six  or  eight  months  in  1556  he 
was  in  Scotland,  and  in  all  these  places  he  was  an 
earnest  and  spirit-stirring  preacher  of  the  Gospel. 

During  this  period  he  wrote  his  '  First  Blast  of  the 
Trumpet  against  the  monstrous  Eegiment  of  Women,' 
a  book  directed  against  Mary  of  England  and  Mary  of 
Scotland,  but  which  also  gave  deep  offence  to  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Knox  greatly  regretted  giving  this  offence, 
and  in  1559  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  queen  defending 
and  excusing  himself,  beginning  thus  : 

As  your  Graces  displesour  against  me,  most  injustly  conceaved,  hes 
bein,  and  is  to  my  wretched  hairt  a  burden  greavous,  and  almost  intoller- 
able ;  so  is  the  testimony  of  a  cleir  conscience  to  me  a  stay  and  uphald, 
that  in  desperatioun  I  sink  not,  how  vehement  that  ever  the  tentationis 
appeir. 

In  this  year,  1559,  Knox  was  recalled  by  the  Scottish 
Lords  of  the  Congregation  to  Scotland,  was  chosen 
Minister  of  Edinburgh,  and  from  that  time  till  his  death 
in  1572  he  laboured  unweariedly,  preaching  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  writing  his  '  Historic 


158       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  the  Keformation,'  and  through  many  sorrows  and 
difficulties  founding  securely  the  Reformed  Church  of 
Scotland. 

In  1561  the  young  Queen  Mary  returned  to  Scotland. 

The  ninetein  day  of  August  1561  yeirs,  betwene  seven  and  eicht 
hours  befoir  none,  arryved  Marie  Quene  of  Scotland,  then  wedo,  with 
two  gallies  furth  of  France.  The  verie  face  of  the  heavin  the  tyme  of 
hir  arryvall  did  manifestly  speik  quhat  comfort  was  brocht  into  this 
country  with  her,  to  wit,  sorow,  darknes,  dolor,  and  all  impiety  ;  for  in 
the  memory  of  man,  that  day  of  the  yeir  was  nevir  sene  a  more  dolorous 
face  of  the  heavin,  than  was  at  hir  arryvall,  which  two  days  efter  did 
continew.  The  sone  was  not  sene  to  schyne  two  dayes  befoir,  nor  two 
dayes  efter.  That  fore  wairning  gave  God  unto  us,  bot  alace  the  most 
pairt  were  blynd. 

The  unfortunate  queen  was  judged  somewhat  harshly, 
though  perhaps  justly,  by  Knox.  After  one  of  his  con- 
ferences with  her  he  says : 

Jhone  Knox  his  awn  jugement,  being  by  sum  of  his  awn  familiars 
demanded  quhat  he  thocht  of  the  Quene.  If  thair  be  not  in  hir  (said  he) 
a  proud  mynd,  a  crafty  witt,  and  ane  indurat  hairt  against  God  and  his 
treuth,  my  jugement  faileth  me. 

Age  and  weakness  were  now  coming  upon  Knox.  The 
murder  of  the  Regent  Murray  in  1569  greatly  distressed 
him,  and  one  of  his  last  sermons  was  preached  when  the 
news  came  of  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  in  1572. 
He  died  in  November  of  that  year,  and  at  his  grave  the 
Regent  Morton  said : 

There  lies  a  man,  who  in  his  life  never  feared  the  face  of  a  man  ; 
who  hath  been  often  threatened  with  dag  and  dagger ;  but  yet  hath 
ended  his  days  in  peace  and  honour. 


EUPHUISM— LYLY  159 


EUPHUISM-LYLY. 

THE  'Euphues  '  of  John  Lyly  was  a  book  that  enjoyed  very 
great  popularity  in  its  day.  One  edition  followed  rapidly 
after  another,  the  first  appearing  in  1579  and  the  twelfth 
and  last  in  1636,  when  its  power  to  please  was  nearly 
gone.  It  appeared  at  a  time  when  Italian  literature  and 
Italian  manners  exerted  their  greatest  influence  upon 
England,  and  its  power  ceased  when  Italian  influence 
gave  way  before  the  great  French  literature  of  the  age 
of  Louis  XIV. 

The  author,  John  Lyly,  was  a  Kentish  man,  born 
about  1553,  and  he  died  in  1600.  He  was  educated  at 
Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  and  from  about  1577  he  was 
attached  in  some  capacity  to  the  court  of  Elizabeth,  but 
he  received  but  meagre  maintenance,  for  in  a  petition  to 
the  queen  in  1590  he  says  : 

If  your  sacred  Majestie  thinke  me  unworthy  and  that  after  x  yeares 
tempest  I  must  att  the  Court  suffer  shypwrack  of  my  tyme,  my  wittes, 
my  hopes,  vouchsafe  in  your  never-erring  judgement  some  Plank,  or 
rafter  to  wafte  me  into  a  country  where  in  my  sadd  and  settled  devocion 
t  may  in  every  corner  of  a  thatcht  cottage  write  prayers  instead  of  plaies, 
prayer  for  your  longe  and  prosprous  life  and  a  repentaunce  that  I  have 
played  the  foole  so  longe. 

In  a  second  petition  three  years  later  he  says : 

My  last  will  is  shorter  than  myne  invencion,  but  three  legacies, 
patience  to  my  creditors,  melancholic  without  measure  to  my  friends, 
and  beggerie  without  shame  to  my  familie. 

While  at  court  Lyly  wrote  some  six  or  eight  dramas, 
mythological  in  character,  which  we  are  told  were  '  often 
presented  and  acted  before  Queene  Elizabeth,  by  the  chil- 


i6o       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

dren  of  her  Majesties  Chappell  and  the  children  of  Paules.' 
In  the  first  of  these  plays  occurs  the  following  fine  song : 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  playd 
At  Gardes  for  kisses,  Cupid  payd ; 
He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows, 
His  mothers  doves,  and  teeme  of  sparrows, 
Loses  them  too,  then  down  he  throwes 
The  corrall  of  his  lippe,  the  rose 
Growing  on's  cheek,  (but  none  knows  how) 
With  these,  the  cristal  of  his  brow, 
And  then  the  dimple  of  his  chinne  ; 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  winne. 
At  last  hee  set  her  both  his  eyes, 
Shee  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

O  Love  !  has  shee  done  this  to  thee  ? 

What  shall  (alas  !)  become  of  me  ! 

Of  Lyly's  chief  work,  the  'Euphues,'  the  most  opposite 
opinions  have  been  held.  Hallam  calls  it  '  a  very  dull 
story,  full  of  dry  commonplaces,'  while  Charles  Kingsley 
says  it  is, '  in  spite  of  occasional  tediousness  and  pedantry, 
as  brave,  righteous  and  pious  a  book  as  a  man  need  look 
into.'  In  its  own  day  its  popularity,  we  are  told,  was  so 
great  that  '  the  court  ladies  had  all  the  phrases  by  heart,' 
and,  'that  Beautie  in  Court,  which  could  not  parley 
euphueism,  was  as  little  regarded  as  she  which  now 
there  speaks  not  French.' 

The  two  chief  peculiarities  of  Lyly's  style  are  a  per- 
petual striving  after  alliteration  and  verbal  antithesis, 
and  a  most  ingenious  stringing  together  of  similes,  some- 
times far-fetched  but  often  extremely  happy.  Examples 
can  be  met  with  on  every  page.  Thus  in  the  very  opening : 

None  more  wittie  than  Euphues,  yet  at  the  first  none  more  wicked. 
The  freshest  colours  soonest  fade,  the  keenest  rasor  soonest  tourneth  his 
edge,  the  finest  cloth  is  soonest  eaten  with  moathes,  and  the  cambricke 


EUPHUISM-LYLY  161 

sooner  stayned  then  the  course  canvas  ;  which  appeared  well  in  this 
Euphues. 

Again,  a  few  pages  later  in  the  book : 

Alas  Euphues,  by  how  much  the  more  I  see  the  high  clymbing  of  thy 
capacitie,  by  so  much  the  more  I  feare  thy  fall.  The  fine  christall  is 
sooner  erased  then  the  hard  marble ;  the  greenest  beech  burneth  faster 
then  the  dryest  oke  ;  the  fairest  silke  is  soonest  soyled  ;  and  the  sweetest 
wine  tourneth  to  the  sharpest  vineger.  If  therefore  thou  doe  but  hearken 
to  the  Syrenes,  thou  wilt  be  enamoured  :  if  thou  haunt  their  houses  and 
places,  thou  shalt  be  enchaunted.  One  droppe  of  poyson  infecteth  the 
whole  tunne  of  wine  :  one  leafe  of  colloquintida  marreth  and  spoyleth  the 
whole  pot  of  porredge ;  one  yron  mole  defaceth  the  whole  peece  of  lawne. 

The  poet  Michael  Drayton,  who  was  no  lover  of  Lyly, 
describes  him  as 

Talking  of  stones,  stars,  plants,  of  fishes,  flyes, 
Playing  with  words,  and  idle  similies. 

Euphues,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  is  a  young  Athenian 
gentleman,  of  whom  '  it  was  doubted  whether  he  were 
more  bound  to  Nature  f©r  the  liniaments  of  his  person, 
or  to  Fortune  for  the  increase  of  his  possessions.'  He 
came  from  Athens  to  Naples,  where,  after  two  months' 
sojourn,  he  swore  eternal  friendship  with  another  youth, 
Philautus. 

And  after  many  embracings  and  protestations  one  to  another,  they 
walked  to  dinner,  wher  they  wanted  neither  meat,  neither  musicke,  neither 
any  other  pastime ;  and  having  banqueted,  to  digest  their  sweete  con- 
fections they  daunced  all  that  after  noone,  they  used  not  onely  one  boorde 
buf  one  bed,  one  booke,  if  so  belt  they  thought  not  one  too  many. 

Philautus  was  in  love  with  Lucilla,'  daughter  of  the 
governor,  Don  Ferardo,  a  lady  so  beautiful  that  she  out- 
shone '  all  the  courtly  crew  of  gentlewomen  sojourning 
in  the  palace.' 

For  as  the  finest  ruby  staineth  the  colour  of  the  rest  that  be  in  place, 
or  as  the  sunne  dimmeth  the  moone  that  she  cannot  be  discerned,  so  this 

M 


162        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  L1TERA  TURE 

gallant   girle   more   faire  than  fortunate,  and  yet  more  fortunate  than 
faithful,  eclipsed  the  beautie  of  them  all  and  chaunged  their  colours. 

Philautus,  fearing  no   ill,  took  Euphues  with   him   to 
visit  Lucilla,  and  they  sat  down  to  supper  together  ; 

but  Euphues  fed  of  one  dish  which  ever  stoode  before  him,  the  beautie  of 
TLucilla. 

Supper  being  ended  the  order  was  in  Naples  that  the  gentlewomen 
would  desire  to  heare  some  discourse  either  concerning  love  or  learning  ; 
and  although  Philautus  was  requested,  yet  he  posted  it  over  to  Euphues, 
whome  he  knewe  most  fit  for  that  purpose. 

The  discourse  of  Euphues  so  captivated  Lucilla  that 
she  *  began  to  frye  in  the  flames  of  love,'  and  when  all 
were  departed  she,  in  the  quiet  of  her  chamber,  convinced 
herself  that  it  would  be  right  to  break  with  Philautus  for 
the  sake  of  Euphues. 

For  as  the  bee  that  gathereth  honnye  out  of  the  weede,  when  shee 
espieth  the  f ayre  floure  flyeth  to  the  sweetest ;  or  as  the  kinde  spaniell 
though  he  hunt  after  birds  yet  forsakes  them  to  retrive  the  partridge,  or 
as  we  commonly  feede  on  beefe  hungerly  at  the  first,  yet  seeing  the  quaile 
more  daintie,  chaunge  our  dyet,  so  I  although  I  loved  Philautus  for  his 
good  properties,  yet  seeing  Euphues  to  excell  him,  I  ought  by  Nature  to 
lyke  him  better. 

Euphues  becomes  false  to  Philautus,  and  Lucilla  is 
false  to  both,  and  forsakes  them  for '  one  Curio,  a  gentle- 
man of  Naples,  of  little  wealth  and  less  wit.'  Euphues 
then  bewails  his  ill- fortune  : 

I  have  lost  Philautus,  I  have  lost  Lucilla,  I  have  lost  that  which  I  shall 
hardlye  finde  againe,  a  faithfull  friend.  Ah  foolish  Euphues,  why  diddest 
thou  leave  Athens,  the  nurse  of  wisedome,  to  inhabite  Naples  the  nourisher 
of  wantonnesse  ?  Had  it  not  beene  better  for  thee  to  have  eaten  salt  with 
the  philosophers  in  Greece  then  sugar  with  the  courtiers  of  Italy  ?  I 
will  to  Athens,  there  to  tosse  my  bookes,  no  more  in  Naples  to  live  with 
faire  lookes.  Philosophy,  physick,  divinitie  shal  be  my  study.  O  the 
hidden  secrets  of  Nature,  the  expresse  image  of  morall  vertues,  the 


EUPHUISM— L  YLY  163 

equal  ballance  of  justice,  the  medicines  to  heale  al  diseases,  how  they 
begin  to  delight  me. 

The  two  estranged  friends  were  again  reconciled. 

After  much  talke  they  renewed  their  old  friendship  both  abandoning 
Lucilla  as  most  abhominable.  Philautus  was  earnest  to  have  Euphues 
tarye  in  Naples,  and  Euphues  desirous  to  have  Philautus  to  Athens,  but 
the  one  was  so  addicted  to  the  court,  the  other  so  wedded  to  the  universitie, 
that  each  refused  the  offer  of  the  other,  yet  this  they  agreed  betweene 
themselves  that  though  their  bodies  were  by  distance  of  place  severed, 
yet  the  conjunction  of  their  mindes  should  neither  be  seperated  by  the 
length  of  time  nor  alienated  by  change  of  soyle,  and  so  shaking  hands 
they  bidde  each  other  farewell. 

Lyly  wrote  a  second  part,  entitled  '  Euphues  and  his 
England,'  and  it  became  equally  popular  with  the  first, 
but  time  and  space  forbid  us  to  enter  upon  this. 


HOOKER. 

THE  prose  of  Ascham  and  Latimer,  of  Lyly  and  Sidney, 
meritorious  though  it  be,  does  not  display  the  majesty 
and  music  of  which  the  English  language  is  capable. 
This  was  first  manifested  in  the  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity ' 
of  Eichard  Hooker. 

This  man  indeed  deserves  the  name  of  an  authour  ;  his  books  will  get 
reverence  by  age,  for  there  is  in  them  such  seeds  of  eternity,  that  if  the 
rest  be  like  this,  they  shall  last  till  the  last  fire  shall  consume  all  learning. 

This  was  the  judgment  of  the  Pope  when  the  first  book 
was  read  to  him,  and  the  judgment  is  felt  to  be  just. 

Hooker's  life  has  been  charmingly  written  by  old 
Isaac  Walton,  the  author  of  the  '  Complete  Angler.'  He 
was  born  in  or  near  Exeter,  in  1554,  of  poor  parents,  and 
would  have  been  apprenticed  to  a  trade,  but  his  school- 
master begged  that  he  might  be  sent  to  the  University, 

M2 


164       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  by  the  care  of  his  uncle  and  the  kindness  of  Bishop 
Jewel,  he  was  sent  at  the  age  of  fourteen  to  Corpus  Christi 
College  in  Oxford. 

On  one  of  his  journeys  on  foot  home  from  college  he 
called  at  Salisbury  and  dined  with  the  good  bishop,  who 
at  parting  said : 

Bichard,  I  will  lend  you  a  horse  which  hath  carried  me  many  a  mile, 
and,  I  thank  God,  with  much  ease.'  And  presently  delivered  into  his 
hand  a  walking  staff,  with  which  he  professed  he  had  walked  through 
many  parts  of  Germany. 

At  Oxford  Hooker  gained  many  friends  by  the  gentle- 
ness of  his  nature  and  his  singular  power  as  a  tutor,  and 
at  the  age  of  twenty-four  he  was  elected  Fellow  of  his 
college.  In  course  of  time  it  was  his  duty  to  preach  at 
St.  Paul's  Cross  in  London,  and  he  lodged  at  the  '  Shuna- 
mite's  House '  in  Watling  Street,  which  was  kept  by  a 
Mrs.  Churchman,  and  she  persuaded  Hooker  that  he  was 
a  man  of  a  tender  constitution,  and  that  it  would  be 
best  for  him  to  have  a  wife. 

And  he,  like  a  true  Nathanael  fearing  no  guile  because  he  meant 
none,  did  give  her  such  a  power  as  Eleazar  was  trusted  with,  when  he 
was  sent  to  choose  a  wife  for  Isaac.  Now  the  wife  provided  for  him  was  her 
daughter  Joan,  who  brought  him  neither  beauty  nor  portion ;  and  for  her 
conditions  they  were  too  like  that  wife's,  which  is  by  Solomon  compared 
to  a  dripping  house  ;  so  that  he  had  no  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  wife  of 
his  youth,  but  rather  to  say,  '  Woe  is  me  that  I  am  constrained  to  dwell 
in  the  tents  of  Kedar.'  And  by  this  means  the  good  man  was  drawn 
from  the  tranquillity  of  his  colledge,  from  that  garden  of  piety,  of  pleasure, 
of  peace  and  a  sweet  conversation,  into  the  thorny  wilderness  of  a  busie 
world ;  into  those  corroding  cares  that  attend  a  married  priest  and  a 
countrey  parsonage. 

Hooker's  first  living  was  at  Drayton-Beauchamp,  in 
Buckinghamshire,  and  from  thence  in  J585,  through  the 


HOOKER  165 

0 

interest  of  his  old  pupils,  of  whom  one  was  the  son  of 
the  Archbishop  of  York,  he  was  promoted  to  the  Master- 
ship of  the  Temple. 

The  time  was  a  critical  one  in  the  history  of  the 
Church  of  England.  The  Martin  Marprelate  controversy 
was  soon  to  burst  forth  with  its  floods  of  scurrility. 
Brownists  and  Barrowists  were  giving  endless  trouble  to 
the  bishops,  and  both  in  the  Church  and  in  Parliament 
there  was  a  strong  and  energetic  Puritan  party,  who 
were  striving  to  remodel  the  Church  of  England  after 
the  pattern  of  Calvin's  at  Geneva. 

A  Mr.  Walter  Travers,  who  had  been  ordained  not  by 
the  bishops  but  by  the  Presbytery  of  Antwerp,  was  at  this 
time  afternoon  lecturer  at  the  Temple,  and  many  desired 
that  he  should  receive  the  Mastership.  With  this  Mr. 
Travers,  Hooker  now  most  unwillingly  found  himself 
forced  into  controversy,  and  we  are  told  that  *  the  pulpit 
spake  pure  Canterbury  in  the  morning,  and  Geneva  in 
the  afternoon.' 

'  In  these  sermons  there  was  little  of  bitterness,  but 
each  party  brought  all  the  reasons  he  was  able  to  prove 
his  adversary's  opinions  erroneous.'  At  last  the  Arch- 
bishop was  bound  to  interfere,  and  Travers  was  silenced. 

Hooker  thereupon  determined  to  write  a  work  which 
should  be  a  sober  exposition  and  defence  of  the  position 
occupied  by  the  Church  of  England,  and  of  the  powers 
claimed  by  her.  '  The  foundation  of  these  books  was  laid 
in  the  Temple,  but  he  found  it  no  fit  place  to  finish  what 
he  had  there  designed.'  and  he  therefore  begged  the 
Archbishop  that  he  might  be  removed  into  some  quiet 
parsonage,  '  where  I  may  see  God's  blessings  spring  out 


166       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  my  mpther  earth,  and  eat  mine  own  bread  in  peace 
and  privacy.' 

He  was  thereupon  presented  in  1591  to  the  living  of 
Boscum,  near  Sarum,  and  there  he  wrote  the  first  four 
books  of  the  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity,'  and  they  were 
published  in  1594.  In  the  next  year  he  was  presented 
to  the  living  of  Bishopsborne,  near  Canterbury,  and  there 
he  finished  his  great  work  and  died  in  1600. 

Many  men  (scholars  especially)  went  to  see  the  man  whose  life  and 
learning  were  so  much  admired  ;  and  wiat  went  they  out  for  to  see  ?  a 
man  cloathed  in  purple  and  fine  linnen  ?  No  indeed,  but  an  obscure 
harmless  man,  a  man  in  poor  cloathes,  his  loyns  usually  girt  in  a  course 
gown  or  canonical  coat ;  of  a  mean  stature  and  stooping,  and  yet  more 
lowly  in  the  thoughts  of  his  soul ;  his  body  worn  out  not  with  age  but 
study  and  holy  mortifications ;  his  face  full  of  heat  pimples  begat  by  his 
unactivity  and  sedentary  life. 

The  fifth  book,  which  is  very  long,  appeared  in  1597, 
but  the  last  three  were  not  printed  till  1662,  and  it  is 
doubted  if  they  are  in  the  state  in  which  Hooker  left 
them.  The  first  book  is  *  concerning  laws  in  general,' 
and  it  is  this  book  which  has  the  most  enduring  interest 
for  general  readers,  and  our  illustrative  extracts  will  be 
taken  from  it. 

In  the  opening  he  shows  how  easy  it  is  to  find  fault 
with  any  established  order  of  things,  but  how  difficult  to 
arrive  at  a  true  judgment  of  its  nature  and  worth. 

He  that  goeth  about  to  persuade  a  multitude  that  they  are  not  so  well 
governed  as  they  ought  to  be,  shall  never  want  attentive  and  favourable 
hearers ;  because  they  know  the  manifold  defects  whereunto  every  kind  of 
regiment  is  subject,  but  the  secret  lets  and  difficulties  which  in  publike 
proceedings  are  innumerable  and  inevitable,  they  have  not  ordinarily  the 
judgement  to  consider. 

The  statelinesse  of  houses,  the  goodlines  of  trees  when  we  behold 
them  delighteth  the  eye  ;  but  that  foundation  which  beareth  up  the  one, 


HOOKER  167 

that  root  which  ministreth  unto  the  other  nourishment  and  life,  is  in  the 
bosome  of  the  earth  concealed ;  and  if  there  be  at  any  time  occasion  to 
search  into  it,  such  labour  is  then  more  necessary  then  pleasant  both  to 
them  which  undertake  it  and  for  the  lookers  on.  In  like  maner  the  use 
and  benefite  of  good  lawes  all  that  live  under  them  may  enjoy  with  delight 
and  comfort,  albeit  the  grounds  and  first  originall  causes  from  whence 
they  have  sprong  be  unknown,  as  to  the  greatest  part  of  men  they  are. 
But  when  they  who  withdraw  their  obedience  pretend  that  the  lawes 
which  they  should  obey  are  corrupt  and  vitious,  for  better  examination  of 
their  qualitie,  it  behooveth  the  very  foundation  and  root,  the  highest  well- 
spring  and  fountaine  of  them  to  be  discovered. 

The  friends  and  defenders  of  the  Church  of  England 
are  challenged,  and  he  accepts  the  challenge : 

The  lawes  of  the  Church  whereby  for  so  many  ages  together  we  have 
beene  guided  in  the  exercise  of  Christian  religion  and  the  service  of  the 
true  God,  our  rites,  customes,  and  orders  of  ecclesiasticall  governement 
are  called  in  question.  We  are  accused  as  men  that  will  not  have  Christ 
Jesus  to  rule  over  them ;  but  have  wilfully  cast  his  statutes  behinde  their 
backs,  hating  to  be  reformed  and  made  subject  to  the  scepter  of  his 
discipline.  Behold  therefore  we  offer  the  lawes  whereby  we  live  unto 
the  generall  tryal  and  judgement  of  the  whole  world  ;  hartely  beseeching 
Almightie  God,  whom  wee  desire  to  serve  according  to  his  owne  will,  that 
both  we  and  others  (all  kinde  of  partiall  affection  being  cleane  laid  aside) 
may  have  eyes  to  see  and  harts  to  embrace  the  things  that  in  his  sight 
are  most  acceptable. 

He   treats   first,    with    the   deepest    reverence,    the 
eternal  law  which  rules  the  operations  of  God : 

Dangerous  it  were  for  the  feeble  braine  of  man  to  wade  farre  into  the 
doings  of  the  most  High  ;  whome  although  to  knowe  be  life,  and  joy  to 
make  mention  of  his  name  ;  yet  our  soundest  knowledge  is  to  know  that 
we  know  him  not  as  indeed  he  is,  neither  can  know  him ;  and  our  safest 
eloquence  concerning  him  is  our  silence,  when  we  confesse  without  con- 
fession that  his  glory  is  inexplicable,  his  greatnes  above  our  capacitie 
and  reach.  He  is  above  and  we  upon  earth  ;  therefore  it  behoveth  our 
wordes  to  be  wary  and  fewe. 

In  the  last  section  of  the  book  he  sums  up  the  kinds 
of  law  of  which  he  has  treated : 

Thus  farre  therefore  we  have  endevoured  in  part  to  open,  of  what 


1 68       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

nature  and  force  lawes  are,  according  unto  their  severall  kindes;  the 
lawe  which  God  with  himselfe  hath  eternally  set  downe  to  follow  in  his 
owne  workes  ;  the  law  which  he  hath  made  for  his  creatures  to  keepe ; 
the  law  of  naturall  and  necessarie  agents  ;  the  law  which  angels  in 
heaven  obey;  the  lawe  whereunto  by  the  light  of  reason,  men  finde 
themselves  bound,  in  that  they  are  men  ;  the  lawe  which  they  make  by 
composition  for  multitudes  and  politique  societies  of  men  to  be  guided 
by  ;  the  lawe  which  belongeth  unto  each  nation  ;  the  lawe  that  concerneth 
the  fellowship  of  all ;  and  lastly  the  lawe  which  God  himself  hath  super- 
naturally  revealed. 

He   closes    the    first    book   with    this    magnificent 
sentence  : 

Wherefore  that  here  we  may  briefely  end  :  of  lawe  there  can  be  no 
lesse  acknowledged  then  that  her  seate  is  the  bosome  of  God,  her  voyce 
the  harmony  of  the  world ;  all  thinges  in  heaven  and  earth  doe  her 
homage,  the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not 
exempted  from  her  power ;  both  angels,  and  men,  and  creatures  of  what 
condition  soever  though  each  in  different  sort  and  maner,  yet  all  with 
uniforme  consent  admiring  her  as  the  mother  of  their  peace  and  joy. 


SPENSER. 

EDMUND  SPENSER,  the  poet  whom  all  succeeding  poets 
have  loved  and  learned  from,  was,  like  his  great  prede- 
cessor Chaucer,  a  Londoner.  In  one  of  his  latest  poems 
he  speaks  of 

Merry  London,  my  most  kindly  nurse 
That  to  me  gave  this  life's  first  native  source 
Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name, 
A  house  of  ancient  fame. 

Of  his  family  little  or  nothing  is  known,  but  he  was 
in  some  way  related  to  the  noble  family  of  the  Spencers. 
'  The  nobility  of  the  Spencers,'  says  Gibbon,  '  has  been 
illustrated  and  enriched  by  the  trophies  of  Marlborough, 
but  I  exhort  them  to  consider  the  "  Fairy  Queen  "  as  the 
most  precious  Jewell  of  their  coronet.' 


SPENSER  169 

Spenser  was  born  about  1552,  and  was  educated  at 
the  Merchant  Taylors'  School,  and  he  afterwards  went  to 
Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  remained  from 
1569  to  1576.  During  these  years  his  great  contempo- 
rary Hooker  was  pursuing  his  happy  course  of  study  at 
Oxford,  while  Shakspere  was  still  at  the  Stratford 
Grammar  School,  and  watching  with  delight  the  players 
at  Kenilworth  or  Coventry. 

While  at  Cambridge  Spenser  formed  a  warm  and 
lasting  friendship  with  Gabriel  Harvey,  a  pedantical 
literary  man  of  some  note  in  Elizabeth's  reign.  Harvey, 
with  other  literary  men,  was  very  desirous  that  English 
poetry  should  be  written  in  classical  metres,  and  he  made 
many  experiments  of  this  kind,  and  persuaded  Spenser 
to  do  the  like.  But  the  poet  felt  that  the  genius  of  the 
English  language  was  unsuited  for  such  metres,  and  he 
gently  ridiculed  verses  which  seemed  '  like  a  lame  gosling 
that  draweth  one  leg  after  her.' 

After  leaving  Cambridge  Spenser  spent  some  time  in 
the  North  of  England,  and  there  he  wrote  '  The  Shep- 
heards  Calender,'  a  work  which  gained  for  him  imme- 
diate and  hearty  recognition  as  '  the  new  poet,'  the  first 
real  successor  to  old  Chaucer.  The  '  Calender '  is  a 
pastoral  poem  in  twelve  eclogues,  one  for  each  month  in 
the  year.  Theocritus  among  the  Greeks  and  Virgil 
among  the  Latins  were  the  models  in  this  kind  of 
writing,  and  Tasso  had  recently  written  a  beautiful 
pastoral  poem,  '  Aminta.' 

The  joys  and  sorrows  of  shepherd  swains  are  the 
subjects  of  Spenser's  poem,  but  real  persons  and  real 
conditions  of  society  are  veiled  under  a  transparent 


i;o        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

allegory.  Elizabeth  is  the  '  Queen  of  shepheards  all,' 
and  her  father,  Henry  VIII.,  is  Pan,  the  god  of  shepherds. 
The  praises  of  the  queen  are  thus  celebrated : 

Ye  daynty  Nymphs,  that  in  this  blessed  Brooke 

Doe  bathe  your  brest, 
Forsake  your  watrie  bowres,  and  hether  looke 

At  my  request : 

And  eke  you  Virgins,  that  on  Parnasse  dwell. 
Whence  floweth  Helicon,  the  learned  well, 

Help  me  to  blaze 

Her  worthy  praise 
Which  in  her  sexe  doth  all  excell 
See,  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassie  greene, 

(O  seemely  sight !) 
Yclad  in  Scarlot,  like  a  mayden  Queene, 

And  ermines  white : 
Upon  her  head  a  Cremosin  coronet, 
With  Damaske  roses  and  Daffadillies  set ; 

Bay  leaves  betweene, 

And  primroses  greene 
Embellish  the  sweete  Violet. 

In  another  eclogue  the  luxurious  idle  clergy  are  de- 
scribed as  false  shepherds : 

Their  sheepe  han  crustes,  and  they  the  bread ; 

The  chippes,  and  they  the  chere  : 
They  han  the  fleece,  and  eke  the  flesh, 

(O,  seely  sheepe  the  while  !) 
The  corne  is  theyrs,  let  other  thresh, 

Their  handes  they  may  not  tile. 
They  han  great  stores  and  thriftye  stockes, 

Great  freendes  and  feeble  foes  ; 
What  need  hem  caren  for  their  flocks, 

Their  boyes  can  looke  to  those. 

Spenser  himself  appears  as  Colin  Clout,  a  shepherd 
lad  in  love  with  Eosalinde,  a  shepherdess  who  rejects  his 
suit : 


SPENSER  1 71 

I  love  thilke  lasse,  (alas  !  why  doe  I  love  ?) 
And  am  forlorne,  (alas  !  why  am  I  lorne  ?) 
Shee  deignes  not  my  good  will,  but  doth  reprove, 
And  of  my  rural  musick  holdeth  scorne. 
Shepheards  devise  she  hateth  as  the  snake 
And  laughes  the  songs  that  Colin  Clout  doth  make. 

The  'Shepheards  Calender'  appeared  in  1579,  with- 
out the  author's  name,  and  with  a  dedication  to  Philip 
Sidney. 

Goe,  little  booke :  thy  selfe  present, 
As  child  whose  parent  is  unkent, 
To  him  that  is  the  president 
Of  noblesse  and  of  chevalree. 

Through  the  interest  and  friendship  of  Sidney, 
Spenser  was  introduced  at  court,  and  in  1580  he  went 
as  secretary  with  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton  to  Ireland,  and 
in  that  country  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life,  except  a  few 
brief  intervals,  and  there  he  wrote  his  greatest  work, 
the  'Faerie  Queene.'  Lord  Grey  was  recalled  in  1582, 
and  he  left  behind  him  a  terrible  name  for  pitiless 
severity,  but  Spenser  years  afterwards,  in  an  interesting 
paper  discussing  the  insoluble  Irish  question,  writes  of 
him  as 

The  good  Lord  Grey,  most  gentle,  affable,  loving,  and  temperate; 
always  known  to  be  a  most  just,  sincere,  godly,  and  right  noble  man, 
far  from  sternness,  far  from  unrighteousness. 

The  poet  received  a  share  in  the  forfeited  lands  of 
rebels,  and  in  1586  he  settled  at  Kilcolman  Castle  in 
Cork,  under  the  Galtee  Hills,  close  to  the  river  Awbeg, 
which  he  celebrates  as  the  Mulla.  In  one  of  the 
sonnets  prefixed  to  the  '  Faerie  Queene/  Spenser  speaks 
of  his  work  as 


172       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

A  simple  taste 

Of  the  wilde  fruit  which  salvage  soyl  hath  bred ; 
Which  being  through  long  wars  left  almost  waste, 
With  brutish  barbarisme  is  overspredd. 

And  nowhere  so  well  as  in  Ireland  could  the  poet  see 
the  trackless  forests  through  which  his  knights  errant 
wandered. 

'  The  curse  of  God  was  so  great  [says  a  contempor- 
ary], and  the  land  so  barren  of  man  and  beast,  that 
whosoever  did  travel  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  all 
Minister  should  not  meet  man,  woman,  or  child,  saving 
in  cities  or  towns,  nor  yet  see  any  beast,  save  foxes, 
wolves,  or  other  ravening  beasts.  This  is  the  desolation 
through  which  Spenser's  knights  pursue  their  solitary 
way  or  join  company  as  they  can.  To  read  of  Kaleigh's 
adventures  with  the  Irish  chieftains,  his  challenges  and 
single  combats,  his  escapes  at  fords  and  woods  is  like 
reading  bits  of  the  Faery  Queen  in  prose.' ] 

Spenser  had  been  brought  in  Ireland  into  close  con- 
nection with  Raleigh,  and,  prefixed  to  the  '  Faerie  Queene,' 
there  is  a  letter  addressed  to  him  in  which  the  scope  and 
intention  of  the  poem  are  described : 

The  generall  end  of  the  booke  is  to  fashion  a  gentleman  or  noble 
person  in  vertuous  and  gentle  discipline.  And  as  Homere  in  the 
persons  of  Agamemnon  and  Ulysses  hath  ensampled  a  good  governour 
and  a  vertuous  man,  the  one  in  his  Ilias,  the  other  in  his  Odysseis,  so  I 
labour  to  pourtraict  in  Arthure  before  he  was  king,  the  image  of  a  brave 
knight  perfected  in  the  twelve  private  morall  vertues,  as  Aristotle  hath 
devised.  In  the  Faerie  Queene  I  meane  glory  in  my  generall  intention, 
but  in  my  particular  I  conceive  the  most  excellent  and  glorious  person 
of  our  soveraine  the  Queene  and  her  kingdome  in  Faery  land.  So  in 
the  person  of  Prince  Arthure  I  sette  forth  magnificence  in  particular, 
which  vertue  is  the  perfection  of  all  the  rest  and  containeth  in  it  them 

1  Church. 


SPENSER  173 

• 

all.  But  of  the  xii  other  vertues  I  make  xii  other  knights  the  patrones, 
for  the  more  variety  of  the  history  ;  of  which  these  three  books  contain 
three.  The  first  of  the  knight  of  the  Bed  Crosse,  in  whome  I  expresse 
Holynes ;  the  seconde  of  Sir  Guyon,  in  whome  I  sette  f orthe  Temperaunce ; 
the  third  of  Britomartis,  a  Lady  Knight,  in  whome  I  picture  Chastity. 

The  'Faerie  Queene,'  to  be  enjoyed,  must  be  read  in 
whole  passages,  for  short  extracts  give  a  very  imperfect 
idea  of  its  manifold  beauties.  Two  pictures  may,  how- 
ever, be  given,  both  from  the  first  book. 

The  Lady  Una,  the  type  of  the  true  Church,  has  been 
bereft  by  enchantment  of  her  protecting  knight,  and  she 
wanders  forlorn. 

One  day,  nigh  wearie  of  the  yrkesome  way, 

From  her  unhastie  beast  she  did  alight ; 

And  on  the  grasse  her  dainty  limbs  did  lay 

In  secrete  shadow,  far  from  all  mens  sight : 

From  her  fayre  head  her  fillet  she  undight, 

And  layd  her  stole  aside.     Her  angels  face, 

As  the  great  eje  of  heaven,  shyned  bright, 

And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place  ; 
Did  never  mortall  eye  behold  such  heavenly  grace. 

It  fortuned,  out  of  the  thickest  wood 

A  ramping  Lyon  rushed  suddeinly, 

Hunting  full  greedy  after  salvage  blood. 

Soone  as  the  royall  virgin  he  did  spy, 

With  gaping  mouth  at  her  ran  greedily, 

To  have  att  once  devourd  her  tender  corse 

But  to  the  pray  when  as  he  drew  more  ny, 

His  bloody  rage  aswaged  with  remorse, 
And,  with  the  sight  amazd,  forgat  his  furious  forse. 

In  stead  thereof  he  kist  her  wearie  feet, 

And  lickt  her  lilly  hands  with  fawning  tong, 

As  he  her  wronged  innocence  did  weet. 

0,  how  can  beautie  maister  the  most  strong, 

And  simple  truth  subdue  avenging  wrong  ! 

Whose  yielded  pryde  and  proud  submission, 

Still  dreading  death,  when  she  had  marked  long, 

Her  hart  gan  melt  in  great  compassion  ; 
And  drizling  teares  did  shed  for  pure  affection. 


174        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Meanwhile  the  beguiled  Eedcross  knight  has  been 
led  by  Duessa  (the  false  Church)  to  the  palace  of  Pride, 
and  this  goddess  comes  forth. 

So  forth  she  comes,  and  to  her  coche  does  clyme, 

Adorned  all  with  gold  and  girlonds  gay, 

That  seemd  as  fresh  as  Flora  in  her  prime  ; 

And  strove  to  match,  in  roiall  rich  array, 

Great  Junoes  golden  chayre  ;  the  which,  they  say, 

The  gods  stand  gazing  on,  when  she  does  ride 

To  Joves  high  hous  through  heavens  bras-paved  way, 

Drawne  of  fayre  Pecocks,  that  excell  in  pride, 

And  full  of  Argus  eyes  their  tayles  dispredden  wide. 
But  this  was  drawne  of  six  unequall  beasts, 
On  which  her  six  sage  Counsellours  did  ryde 
Taught  to  obay  their  bestiall  beheasts, 
With  like  conditions  to  their  kindes  applyde  : 
Of  which  the  first,  that  all  the  rest  did  guyde, 
Was  sluggish  Idlenesse,  the  nourse  of  sin ; 
Upon  a  slouthfull  Asse  he  chose  to  ryde, 
Arayd  in  habit  blacke,  and  amis  thin, 

Like  to  an  holy  Monck,  the  service  to^begin. 
And  by  his  side  rode  loathsome  Gluttony, 
Deformed  creature,  on  a  filthie  swyne. 
His  belly  was  upblowne  with  luxury, 
And  eke  with  fatnesse  swollen  were  his  eyne ; 
And  like  a  Crane  his  necke  was  long  and  fyne, 
With  which  he  swallowed  up  excessive  feast, 
For  want  whereof  poore  people  oft  did  pyne : 
And  all  the  way,  most  like  a  brutish  beast, 

He  spued  up  his  gorge,  that  all  did  him  deteast. 

In  1589  the  first  three  books  were  finished,  and  in 
the  summer  of  that  year  Raleigh  came  to  Kilcolman, 
read  the  new  poem,  recognised  its  splendid  merit,  and 
persuaded  Spenser  to  come  with  him  to  London.  There 
he  read  parts  of  his  poem  to  the  queen,  who  was  so 
pleased  with  the  glowing  pictures  which  the  poet  had 
drawn  of  her  as  Belphoebe,  or  Gloriana,  or  Cynthia,  that 


SPENSER  175 

she  gave  him  a  pension  of  501.  a  year.  In  1590  the 
book  was  published,  and  was  received  with  a  chorus  of 
praise. 

In  1591  Spenser  was  back  again  at  Kilcolman,  and 
in  his  poem  of  *  Colin  Clouts  come  home  again '  he 
tells  under  a  very  transparent  allegory  the  story  of  his 
visit  to  court  with  Kaleigh  the  '  Shepheard  of  the 
Ocean.' 

In  1594  the  poet  was  married,  and  he  celebrated 
the  event  with  his  '  Epithalaraium,'  a  poem  of  over  four 
hundred  lines  and  the  most  magnificent  marriage  ode 
in  any  language. 

Behold,  whiles  she  before  the  altar  stands, 

Hearing  the  holy  priest  that  to  her  speakes, 

And  blesseth  her  with  his  two  happy  hands, 

How  the  red  roses  flush  up  in  her  cheekes, 

And  the  pure  snow,  with  goodly  vermill  stayne, 

Like  crimson  dyde  in  grayne : 

That  even  the  Angels,  which  continually 

About  the  sacred  Altare  doe  remaine, 

Forget  their  service  and  about  her  fly, 

Ofte  peeping  in  her  face,  that  seemes  more  fay  re, 

The  more  they  on  it  stare. 

Two  sons  were  born  to  him,  and  their  names, 
Sylvanus  and  Peregrine,  seem  to  show  that  Spenser  in 
Ireland  still  regarded  himself  as  an  exile  from  home. 

The  next  three  books  of  the  '  Faerie  Queene '  were 
published  in  1596,  but  though  they  contain  many 
beauties  they  are  not  equal  in  interest  to  the  first  three 
books. 

After  the  poet's  death  a  fragment  of  a  seventh  book 
was  published,  and  in  it  there  is  the  charming  picture  of 
the  procession  of  the  seasons  and  the  months. 


iy6       HANDBOOK  Of  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1598  another  and  more  terrible  Irish  rebellion 
broke  out,  and  Spenser  was  overwhelmed  by  it.  Kil- 
colman  was  burnt,  and  the  poet  and  his  wife  scarcely 
escaped  with  their  lives,  while  an  infant  perished  in  the 
flames.  He  came  to  London  a  broken,  ruined  man,  and 
in  January  1599  he  died  broken-hearted  in  King  Street. 

Spenser  has  been  called  the  poet  of  poets.  Milton 
owes  much  to  him ;  Cowley  and  Dryden  call  him  master ; 
Thomson  copied  his  stanza,  and  his  influence  is  seen  in 
Wordsworth,  Shelley,  and  Keats.  All  men  praise  the 
delicious  harmony  of  his  verses. 

'  Spenser  is  the  poet  of  our  waking  dreams  ;  and  he 
has  invented  not  only  a  language,  but  a  music  of  his 
own  for  them.  The  undulations  are  infinite,  like  those 
of  the  waves  of  the  sea  ;  but  the  effect  is  still  the  same, 
lulling  the  senses  into  a  deep  oblivion  of  the  jarring 
noises  of  the  world  from  which  we  have  no  wish  to  be 
ever  recalled.'  !  

THE   EARLY   ENGLISH    DRAMA. 

As  we  are  now  approaching  the  period  of  Shakspere's 
appearance  in  English  literature  it  may  be  well  to  glance 
at  the  condition  of  the  English  stage  and  drama  before 
his  time.  As  early  as  the  eleventh  century  we  hear  of 
the  life  of  St.  Catharine  being  exhibited  in  the  Abbey  of 
Dunstable,  and  plays  of  the  Passion  were  performed  in 
Coventry  and  other  monasteries.  The  players  were  the 
monks  and  choristers,  and  the  times  chosen  were  those 
of  the  great  festivals  of  the  Church. 

1  Hazlitt. 


THE  EARLY  ENGLISH  DRAMA  177 

At  a  later  date  these  miracle  or  mystery  plays  were 
also  performed  by  the  guilds  of  various  cities.  Thus  we 
find- 

The  playes  of  Chester  called  the  Whitson  playes  weare  the  worke  of 
one  Rondell,  a  moncke  of  the  abbaye  of  Sainte  Warburghe  in  Chester, 
who  redused  the  whole  historye  of  the  bible  into  Englishe  storyes  in 
metter  in  the  Engishe  tounge.  Then  the  firste  mayor  of  Chester  he  caused 
the  same  to  be  played :  the  manner  of  which  playes  was  thus : — they 
weare  divided  into  24  pagiantes  according  to  the  companyes  of  the  cittie  ; 
and  every  companye  broughte  forthe  theire  pagiant,  which  was  the 
cariage  or  place  which  they  played  in.  These  pagiantes  or  carige  was  a 
hyghe  place  made  like  a  howse  with  2  rowmes  beinge  open  on  the  tope  ; 
in  the  lower  rowme  theie  apparrelled  and  dressed  themselves  and  in  the 
higher  rowme  theie  played,  and  theie  stode  upon  VI  wheeles. 

So  at  Coventry  as  late  as  1591,  at  the  Feast  of  Corpus 
Christi,  the  bible  story  was  exhibited  with  much  magni- 
ficence by  the  guilds,  and  the  whole  series  of  forty-three 
plays  has  been  preserved.  The  men  and  women  of 
Coventry  had  also  from  very  early  times  performed  an- 
nually their  '  storial  play '  of  Hock  Tuesday,  in  com- 
memoration of  the  overthrow  of  the  Danes  on  St.  Brice's 
Day  in  1002.  When  Elizabeth  visited  Kenilworth  in 
1575  the  people  of  Coventry  begged  to  be  allowed  to  per- 
form their  play  before  her,  and  the  queen  gave  them 
leave.  Kenilworth  is  not  far  from  Stratford,  and 
Shakspere  was  then  in  his  twelfth  year,  and  it  is  quite 
possible  that  he  was  there  to  hear  and  to  enjoy.  The 
Coventry  folks  also  annually  exhibited  the  pageant  of 
the  *  Nine  Worthies,'  and  Shakspere  has  lovingly  com- 
memorated it  in  the  pageant  exhibited  by  the  parson, 
schoolmaster,  and  pedant  to  please  the  lords  and  ladies 
in  '  Love's  Labour's  Lost/ 

There  were  also  companies   of  professional  players 


iy8        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

who  were  retainers  of  some  nobleman,  and  who  under 
the  protection  of  his  name  travelled  through  the  country 
and  gave  their  entertainments.  Thus  we  find  that  while 
Shakspere  was  still  a  hoy',  Stratford  was  visited  by  the 
1  Queen's  players,'  the  *  Earl  of  Worcester's  players,'  and 
'my  lord  of  Leicester's  players.'  A  writer  who  was 
born  in  the  same  year  with  Shakspere  says  : 

In  the  city  of  Gloucester  the  manner  is  when  players  come  to  town, 
they  first  attend  the  mayor  to  inform  him  what  nobleman's  servants  they 
are,  and  so  to  get  licence  for  their  public  playing ;  and  if  the  mayor  likes 
the  actors  he  appoints  them  to  play  their  first  play  before  himself  and 
the  aldermen  and  common  council  of  the  city,  and  that  is  called  the 
mayor's  play.  At  such  a  play  my  father  took  me  with  him,  and  made 
me  stand  between  his  legs  as  he  sat  upon  one  of  the  benches,  where  we 
saw  and  heard  very  well.  The  play  was  called  the  '  Cradle  of  Security,' 
wherein  was  personated  a  king  with  his  courtiers  of  several  kinds,  amongst 
which  three  ladies  were  in  special  grace  with  him,  and  they  keeping  him 
in  delights  and  pleasures  drew  him  from  hearing  of  sermons  and  listening 
to  good  council,  that  in  the  end  they  got  him  to  lie  down  in  a  cradle  upon 
the  stage,  where  these  three  ladies  joining  in  a  sweet  song  rocked  him 
asleep  that  he  snorted  again.  Then  came  forth  of  another  door  two  old 
men,  the  one  in  blue  with  a  mace  on  his  shoulder,  the  other  in  red  with 
a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and  so  they  two  went  along  in  a  soft  pace  till 
at  last  they  came  to  the  cradle,  and  then  the  foremost  old  man  with  his 
mace  struck  a  fearful  blow  upon  the  crad^,  whereat  the  courtiers  with  the 
three  ladies  all  vanished ;  and  the  desolate  prince  starting  up  made  a 
lamentable  complaint  and  so  was  carried  away  by  wicked  spirits.  This 
prince  did  personate  the  wicked  of  the  world ;  the  three  ladies,  pride, 
covetousness  and  luxury ;  and  the  two  old  men,  the  end  of  the  world  and 
the  last  judgment. 

In  London  the  chief  players  were  the  choir  *  Children 
of  Paules '  and  the  '  Children  of  the  Chapel-royal.'  The 
former  body  were  of  ancient  standing,  but  the  latter  had 
only  recently  been  formed  into  a  company  of  players 
under  the  leadership  of  Kichard  Edwards,  a  poet,  player, 
and  singer  of  much  note  in  his  day.  Some  of  his  poems 


THE  EARLY  ENGLISH  DRAMA  179 

are  preserved  in  a  miscellaneous  collection  called  '  The 
Paradise  of  Dainty  Devices,  and  Shakspere  has  made  use 
of  one  of  his  verses  in  '  Eonieo  and  Juliet.' 

When  griping  griefes  the  heart  doth  wound 

And  doleful  dumps  the  mind  oppress, 
Then  musicke,  with  her  silver  sound, 

With  speedy  helpe  doth  lend  redresse. 

When  Elizabeth  visited  Oxford  in  1566,  Edwards 
with  his  choir  attended  her  and  he  composed  the  play  of 
'Palamon  and  Arcite,'  for  which  he  gained  great  praise. 
He  also  wrote  the  play  of  'Damon  and  Pythias,'  and 
probably  many  others  which  are  now  lost.  Edwards  died 
in  this  same  year  1566,  and  the  poet  Turbervile  wrote 
his  epitaph. 

Ye  learned  Muses  nine, 

And  sacred  sisters  all ; 
Now  lay  your  cheerful  cithrons  downe 

And  to  lamenting  fall. 
For  he  that  led  the  daunce, 

The  chiefest  of  your  traine — 
I  mean  the  man  that  Edwards  height — ! 

By  cruel  death  is  slaine. 

Before  the  erection  of  established  theatres  in  London 
plays  were  acted  in  the  yards  of  inns,  such  as  the  Bell 
Savage  on  Ludgate  Hill,  the  Cross  Keys  in  Gracechurch 
Street,  and  the  Bull  in  Bishopsgate  Street.  But  the  feel- 
ings of  the  Puritans  were  strong  against  the  stage,  and  in 
1575  players  were  expelled  from  the  City,  and  then 
theatres  were  built  beyond  the  *  liberties.'  The  changes  in 
religion  had  doubtless  unsettled  the  faith  of  many  people, 
and  we  are  told  that  '  many  now  were  wholly  departed 
from  the  communion  of  the  Church,  and  came  no  more 
to  hear  Divine  service  in  their  parish  churches.' 

1  is  named 

N2 


i8o       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

For  such  people  the  playhouses  stood  open  on  the 
Sundays,  and  they  crowded  to  them,  leaving  the  churches 
deserted. 

A  preacher  at  St.  Paul's  Cross  in  1578  says— 

Wyll  not  a  fylthye  playe,  wyth  the  blast  of  a  trumpette,  sooner  call 
thyther  a  thousande,  than  an  houres  tolling  of  a  bell  bring  to  the  sermon 
a  hundred?  Nay,  even  heere  in  the  Citie,  without  it  be  at  this  place  and 
some  other  certaine  ordinarie  audience,  where  shall  you  finde  a  reason- 
able company?  Whereas,  if  you  resort  to  the  Theatre,  the  Curtayne 
and  other  places,  you  shall  on  the  Lord's  day  have  these  places  with 
many  others  that  I  can  not  reckon,  so  full  as  possible  they  can  throng. 


CHRISTOPHER   MARLOWE. 

A  LITTLE  band  of  talented  men— Lyly,  Greene,  Lodge, 
Nash,  Peele,  and  Marlowe — were  the  immediate  prede- 
cessors of  Shakspere,  and  they  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  romantic  drama,  which  the  great  master  was  to  en- 
rich with  his  wonderful  creations.  They  were  all  men 
of  learning,  University  wits,  but  they  cast  away  the  tram- 
mels of  the  unities  x>f  place  and  time,  which  belonged 
to  the  classical  drama;  and  by  so  doing  they  grieved 
men  of  fine  taste  like  Sidney,  who  wished  that  English 
dramas  should  be  written  on  the  model  of  Seneca. 

Where  the  stage  should  always  represent  but  one  place  and  one  day, 
here  is  both  many  dayes  and  many  places  unartificially  imagined.  You 
shal  have  Asia  of  the  one  side  and  Affrick  of  the  other  and  so  many  other 
under-kingdoms,  that  the  player  when  he  commeth  in,  must  ever  begin 
with  telling  where  he  is ;  or  els  the  tale  will  not  be  conceived.  Now  ye 
shal  have  three  Ladies  walke  to  gather  flowers,  and  then  ye  must  believe 
the  stage  to  be  a  garden.  By  and  by,  we  heare  newes  of  shipwracke  in 
the  same  place,  and  then  wee  are  to  blame,  if  we  accept  it  not  for 
a  rock.  Upon  the  backe  of  that  comes  out  a  hidious  monster,  with 
fire  and  smoke,  and  then  the  miserable  beholders  are  bounde  to  take  it 


CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE  181 

for  a  Cave.  While  in  the  meantime  two  armies  flye  in,  represented  with 
foure  swords  and  bucklers,  and  then  what  harde  heart  will  not  receive  it 
for  a  pitched  fielde  ?  l 

Of  these  writers  Marlowe  was  by  far  the  greatest, 
and  he  is  probably  the  only  one  to  whom  Shakspere 
is  greatly  indebted.  His  blank  verse,  which  Ben  Jonson 
describes  as  '  Marlowe's  mighty  line,'  is  regarded  as  a 
distinct  creation,  and  Shakspere  himself  has  not  excelled 
his  finest  passages. 

Marlowe  was  born  at  Canterbury  in  the  same  year 
(1564)  with  Shakspere,  but  a  few  months  earlier.  His 
father  was  a  shoemaker,  but  the  boy  was  sent  to  the 
King's  School  in  Canterbury,  and  from  thence  to  Cam- 
bridge,  where  he  took  his  degree  in  1583.  Of  the  next 
few  years  of  his  life  nothing  certain  is  known,  and  some 
think  that  he  came  to  London  and  was  an  actor,  others 
that  he  went  with  Sidney  to  the  wars  in  the  Nether- 
lands. 

But  in  1588  his  first  great  drama  of  '  Tamburlaine 
the  Great '  was  performed  by  the  '  Players  of  the  Earl  of 
Worcester,'  and  the  hero's  part  was  taken  by  the  famous 
actor  Alleyn,  who  afterwards  founded  Dulwich  College. 

This  play  of  the  young  poet  is  very  extravagant  both 
in  plot  and  language,  and  Nash  speaks  of  its  '  swelling 
bombast  of  a  bragging  blank  verse,'  but  it  is  filled  with 
magnificent  passages  and  became  immensely  popular. 

The  hero  himself  is  thus  described  : 

His  loftie  browes  in  foldes  do  figure  death 
And  in  their  smoothnesse  amitie  and  life ; 
About  them  hangs  a  knot  of  amber  haire, 
Wrapped  in  curies,  as  fierce  Achilles'  was, 


Apology  for  Poetrie. 


182       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

On  which  the  breath  of  Heaven  delights  to  play, 
Making  it  dance  with  wanton  majestic. 

And  he  thus  expresses  confidence  in  his  own  fortunes  : 

I  hold  the  Fates  bound  fast  in  yron  chaines, 
And  with  my  hand  turne  Fortune's  wheel  about : 
And  sooner  shall  the  sun  fall  from  his  spheare, 
Than  Tamburlaine  be  slaine  or  overcome. 

After  one  of  his  early  triumphs  he  exultingly  cries  : 

*  And  ride  in  triumph  through  Persepolis !  ' 

Is  it  not  brave  to  bee  a  king,  Techelles  ? 

Usumcasane  and  Theridamas, 

Is  it  not  passing  brave  to  be  a  king, 

'  And  ride  in  triumph  through  Persepolis  '  ? 

In  the  following  fine  passage  Marlowe  seems  to  be 
expressing  in  the  person  of  his  hero  his  own  boundless 
desires  : 

Nature,  that  framed  us  of  foure  elements 
Warring  within  our  breasts  for  regiment, 
Doth  teach  us  all  to  have  aspyring  minds  : 
Our  soules,  whose  faculties  can  comprehend 
The  wondrous  architecture  of  the  world, 
And  measure  every  wandring  planet's  course, 
Still  climing  after  knowledge  infinite, 
And  alwaies  moving  as  the  restles  spheares, 
Will  us  to  weare  ourselves  and  never  rest 
Untill  we  reach  the  ripest  fruite  of  all. 

Tamburlaine  has  taken  as  his  wife  Zenocrate,  the 
daughter  of  the  Soldan  of  Damascus,  who  himself  will 
not  submit  to  the  conqueror.  Zenocrate  loves  Tambur- 
laine, but  she  grieves  for  her  father  and  for  the  ruin 
which  threatens  him,  and  the  hero  is  drawn  by  the 
conflicting  feelings  of  love  for  his  wife  and  for  dominion. 

Ah,  faire  Zenocrate  !  divine  Zenocrate  ! 
Faire  is  too  foule  an  epithete  for  thee, 
That  in  thy  passion  for  thy  countries  love, 
And  feare  to  see  thy  kingly  father's  harm, 


CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE  183 

With  haire  discheveld  wipst  thy  watery  cheeks  ; 
And,  like  to  Flora  in  her  mornings  pride, 
Shaking  her  silver  tresses  in  the  aire, 
Bainst  on  the  earth  resolved  pearle  in  showers 
And  sprinklest  sapphyrs  on  thy  shining  face. 

When  at  last  she  dies  he  thus  addresses  her  dead 
body: 

Where'ere  her  soule  be,  thou  shalt  stay  with  me, 

Embalmed  with  cassia,  ambergris,  and  myrre, 

Not  lapt  in  lead,  but  in  a  sheet  of  gold, 

And  till  I  die  thou  shalt  not  be  interred. 

Then  in  as  rich  a  tombe  as  Mausolus' 

We  both  will  rest  and  have  an  epitaph 

Writ  in  as  many  severall  languages 

As  I  have  conquered  kingdomes  with  my  sword. 

This  cursed  towne  will  I  consume  with  fire, 

Because  this  place  bereaved  me  of  my  love  ; 

The  houses,  burnt,  will  looke  as  if  they  mourned ; 

And  here  will  I  set  up  her  statue, 

And  march  about  it  with  my  mourning  campe 

Drooping  and  pining  for  Zenocrate. 

Soon  after  '  Tamburlaine  '  appeared  '  The  Tragical 
History  of  Doctor  Faustus,'  a  play  which  Goethe  greatly 
admired  and  which  he  had  thoughts  of  translating.  It 
is  marked  by  the  same  beauties  and  extravagances  as 
Marlowe's  earlier  play.  Faustus  thus  speaks  of  what  he 
will  do  by  the  powers  of  magic  : 

Shal  I  make  spirits  fetch  me  what  I  please, 

Kesolve  me  of  all  ambiguities, 

Performe  what  desperate  enterprise  I  will  ? 

I'll  have  them  flye  to  India  for  gold, 

Ransacke  the  ocean  for  orient  pearle, 

And  search  all  corners  of  the  new-found  world 

For  pleasant  fruites  and  princely  delicates ; 

I'll  have  them  reade  mee  strange  philosophie 

And  tell  the  secrets  of  all  forraine  kings ; 

I'll  have  them  wall  all  Jermany  with  brass, 


1 84       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

And  make  swift  Khine  circle  faire  Wertenberge ; 
I'll  have  them  fill  the  publike  schooles  with  silk, 
Wherewith  the  students  shal  be  bravely  clad  ; 
I'll  levy  soldiers  with  the  coyne  they  bring 
And  chase  the  Prince  of  Parma  from  our  land, 
And  raigne  sole  king  of  all  our  provinces. 

In  a  later  scene  Helen  of  Troy  is  called  up  at  Faustus' 
desire. 

Was  this  the  face  that  lancht  a  thousand  shippes 
And  burnt  the  toplesse  towres  of  Ilium  ? 
Sweete  Helen,  make  me  immortall  with  a  kisse. 
Her  lips  sucke  forth  my  soule ;  see  where  it  flies ! 
Come,  Helen,  come,  give  mee  my  soule  againe. 
Here  wil  I  dwel,  for  Heaven  is  in  these  lips 
And  all  is  drosse  that  is  not  Helena. 
Oh  !  thou  art  fairer  then  the  evening  aire 
Clad  in  the  beauty  of  a  thousand  starres  1 
Brighter  art  thou  then  naming  Jupiter 
When  he  appeard  to  haplesse  Semele  : 
More  lovely  then  the  monarke  of  the  skie 
In  wanton  Arethusa's  azurde  arms  ! 

Marlowe  wrote  two  other  fine  plays,  'The  Jew  of 
Malta  '  and  '  Edward  II.,'  besides  fragments  of  one  or  two 
others.  He  is  believed  to  be  the  author  of  portions  of 
the  'Henry  VI.'  and  possibly  of  some  other  of  Shakspere's 
earliest  plays.  He  also  wrote  a  fine  poem,  '  Hero  and 
Leander,'  from  which  Shakspere  quotes  one  line  in  '  As 
you  like  it.' 

Dead  Shepheard !  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might. 
'  Who  ever  loved  that  loved  not  at  first  sight  ?  ' 

Izaak  Walton  also  claims  the  following  pretty  song  as 
Marlowe's,  though  it  is  commonly  attributed  to  Shak-- 
spere. 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  vallies,  dales  and  fields 
And  all  the  craggy  mountaines  yields. 


SHAKSPERE  185 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rockes 
And  see  the  shepheards  feede  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers  by  whose  falles 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigales. 
There  will  I  make  a  bed  of  roses 
With  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers  and  a  kirtle 
Imbrodered  all  with  leaves  of  mirtle ; 
A  gowne  made  of  the  finest  wooll 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambes  we  pull, 
Faire  lined  slippers  for  the  cold 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold ; 
A  belt  of  straw  and  ivie  buds, 
With  corral  clasps  and  amber  studs  ; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Then  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

Marlowe  was  a  man  of  wild,  reckless  life,  and  he  has 
been  accused,  though  on  very  insufficient  evidence,  of 
holding  atheistical  and  blasphemous  opinions.  In 
May  of  1593  he  was  stabbed  by  a  serving  man  in  a 
tavern  brawl  in  Deptford,  and  to  him,  thus  miserably  cut 
off  in  the  still  opening  flower  of  his  life,  we  may  apply 
the  words  of  his  own  chorus  : 

Cut  is  the  branch  that  might  have  growne  ful  straight 
And  burned  is  Apolloes  laurel  bough, 
That  sometime  grew  within  this  learned  man. 
Faustus  is  gone  1 


SHAKSPERE. 

Shakspere's  youth. — William  Shakspere  was  born 
in  April  1564,  in  the  pleasant  old  country  town  of 
Stratford-on-Avon.  His  father,  John  Shakspere,  was 
bailiff,  or  chief  magistrate,  of  Stratford  in  1568,  and  his 
mother,  Mary  Arden,  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  War- 


1 86       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

wickshire  families,  and  she  brought  to  her  husband  a 
tiny  estate  of  arable  and  pasture  land  and  a  house. 
John  Shakspere  had  land  of  his  own,  and  rented  more, 
and  he  cultivated  the  land  and  sold  the  produce,  and 
the  stories  of  his  being  a  butcher,  or  wool  merchant,  or 
glover,  may  be  dismissed  as  worthless. 

The  boy  William  was  sent  to  the  Free  Grammar 
School  in  Stratford,  and  when  he  was  a  man  he  was 
less  learned  than  his  brother  authors  in  London,  many 
of  whom  were  University  men.     '  He  had  small  Latine 
and  lesse  Greeke,'  says  Ben  Jonson.    But  he  was  receiv- 
ing from  Nature  a  higher  teaching  than  any  he  could 
gain  from  books.     The  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  is  a 
smiling,  pleasant  country  through  which  the  Avon  flows 
peacefully- 
Making  sweet  musicke  with  the  enameld  stones, 
Giving  a  gentle  kisse  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage.1 

Pretty  hamlets — Wilmcote,  Binton,  Shottery,  Charl- 
cote,  and  many  others — lie  within  easy  distance,  and  we 
may  be  sure  he  knew  them  all.  '  Images  of  mead  and 
grove,  of  dale  and  upland,  of  forest  depths,  of  quiet 
walks  by  gentle  rivers,  spread  themselves  without  an 
effort  over  all  his  writings.  The  sports,  the  festivals  of 
the  secluded  hamlet  are  presented  by  him  with  all  the 
charms  of  an  Arcadian  age,  but  with  a  truthfulness  that 
is  not  found  in  Arcadia.  He  wreaths  all  the  flowers  of 
the  field  in  his  delicate  chaplets.' 

O  Proserpina, 

For  the  flowres  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  lettst  fall 
From  Dysses  waggon  !  daffadils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 

1  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 


SHAKSPERE  187 

The  windes  of  March  with  beauty ;  violets,  dim 
But  sweeter  then  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath.1 

In  1578,  when  William  was  fourteen  years  old,  his 
father  appears  to  have  become  greatly  reduced  in  circum- 
stances, for  he  mortgaged  his  wife's  land,  and  he  was 
unable  to  meet  certain  claims  made  upon  him.  There 
were  then  living  five  children,  of  whom  William  was  the 
eldest  boy,  and  probably  for  some  years  to  come  he 
worked  with  his  father  on  the  farm.  There  is  also  a 
tradition  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  notary's  office;  and  it 
is  noticed  that  in  his  writings  he  makes  use  of  many 
technical  legal  terms  and  expressions,  and  always  with 
the  nicest  accuracy. 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 

I  sigh  the  lacke  of  many  a  thing  I  sought, 

And  with  old  woes  new  waile  my  deare  times'  waste. 

Again  in  another  sonnet : 

Oh  that  you  were  yourselfe  !  but,  love,  you  are 

No  longer  yours  than  you  yourself  here  live  : 
Against  this  comming  end  you  should  prepare, 

And  your  sweet  semblance  to  some  other  give. 
So  should  that  beauty  which  you  hold  in  lease 

Find  no  determination ;  then  you  were 
Yourselfe  again,  after  yourselfes  decease, 

When  your  sweet  issue  your  sweete  forme  should  bear. 

But  too  much  stress  must  not  be  laid  upon  this  argu- 
ment, for  there  is  no  art  or  profession  which  Shakspere 
has  not  laid  under  contribution  for  his  beautiful  and 
expressive  similes. 

In  November  1582,  while  still  a  youth  of  eighteen, 
William  married  Anne  Hathaway,  from  the  village  of 

1  Winter's  Tale. 


i88       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Shottery,  and  a  daughter,  Susannah,  was  born  to  them 
the  next  year.  His  wife  was  seven  years  his  senior,  and 
there  are  reasons  for  thinking  that  Shakspere  regretted 
this  hasty  and  apparently  ill-assorted  match. 

Let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herselfe ;  so  weares  she  to  him, 
So  swayes  she  levell  in  her  husband's  heart. 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddie  and  infirme, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worne. 
Then  women's  are.1 

In  1585  two  more  children,  twins,  a  boy  and  girl, 
Hamnet  and  Judeth,  were  born  to  Shakspere,  and  some 
time  afterwards — perhaps  the  next  year — he  went  to  seek 
his  fortune  in  London,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  with 
his  father  and  mother  in  Stratford. 

Shakspere  in  London. — A  very  old  tradition  states, 
'  This  William,  being  naturally  inclined  to  poetry  and 
acting,  came  to  London — I  guess  about  eighteen — and 
was  an  actor  at  one  of  the  playhouses,  and  did  act  ex- 
ceedingly well.'  A  later  tradition  runs,  '  He  was  obliged 
to  leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for 
some  time,  and  shelter  himself  in  London,'  connecting 
his  leaving  with  a  story  of  deer-stealing  at  Charlcote. 
We  know  that  three  companies  of  players  visited 
Stratford  in  1584,  and  we  may  well  believe  that  the 
young  Shakspere  felt  moved  to  follow  their  example.  In 
1587  the  '  Queen's  Players '  visited  Stratford,  and  per- 
haps Shakspere  was  already  enrolled  among  them,  and 
in  1589  his  name  appears  in  a  list  of  sixteen  who  are 
described  as  '  Her  Majesty's  poor  players,  and  all  of 

1  Twelfth  Night. 


SHAKSPERE  189 

them  sharers  in  the  Blackfriars  Playhouse.'  Of  the 
sixteen,  two,  Eichard  Burbadge  and  William  Kempe, 
were  the  Garrick  and  Grimaldi  of  that  age,  and  two 
others,  Thomas  Greene  and  George  Peele,  were  dramatic 
writers  of  some  note. 

This  company  of  the  '  Queen's  Players,'  which  was 
known  at  first  as  the  '  Servants  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,' 
received  royal  letters  patent  in  1574,  and  in  1576  they 
erected  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  just  outside  the  city 
walls,  and  here  Shakspere's  earliest  plays,  his  '  Henry 
VI.,'  *  Love's  Labour's  Lost,'  and  others,  were  exhibited. 

We  may  be  sure  that  Shakspere's  success  was  not 
welcome  to  all  of  his  fellow-poets,  and  one  of  them 
speaks  thus  of  him  : 

There  is  an  upstart  crow  beautified  with  our  feathers,  that  with  his 
tygers  heart  wrapt  in  a  players  hide,1  supposes  he  is  as  well  able  to 
bumbast  out  a  blanke  verse  as  the  best  of  us,  and  is  in  his  owne  conceit 
the  onely  Shake-scene  in  a  country. 

Kobert  Greene,  the  writer  of  these  lines,  was  a  man 
of  genius  but  of  most  wild  life,  a  Master  of  Arts  of  both 
Universities,  and  a  writer  of  plays  and  pretty  prose 
romances  in  the  style  of  Lyly's  '  Euphues.'  He  died  in 
1592  in  poverty  and  misery,  and  it  is  thought  Shakspere 
dropt  a  tear  to  his  memory  in  '  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream ' : 

The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the  death 
Of  learning  late  deceased  in  beggary. 

Greene's  prose  romances  were,  in  their  way,  beauti- 
ful, and  were  very  popular,  and  Shakspere  has  closely 
followed  the  plot  of  one  of  them  in  creating  his  '  Winter's 
Tale.' 
1  •  Oh,  tygers  heart  wrapt  in  a  woman's  hide.'     (Henry  VI.,  Pt.-iii.) 


190       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1591  one  greater  than  Greene,  the  poet  Spenser, 
in  his  poem  of  the  '  Tears  of  the  Muses,'  speaks  thus : 

He,  tlie  man  whom  Nature  selfe  had  made 

To  mock  herself e  and  truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter  under  mimick  shade, 

Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  I  is  dead  of  late, 
With  whom  all  joy  and  jolly  meriment 
Is  also  deaded  and  in  dolour  drent. 

Instead  thereof  scoffing  Scurrilitie 

And  scornful  Follie,  with  Contempt,  is  crept, 

Rolling  in  rymes  of  shameles  ribaudrie, 
Without  regard  or  due  decorum  kept ; 

Each  idle  wit  at  will  presumes  to  make, 

And  doth  the  Learned's  taske  upon  him  take. 

But  tliat  same  gentle  spirit  from  whose  pen 
Large  streames  of  honnic  and  sweete  nectar  flowe, 

Scorning  the  boldnes  of  such  base-borne  men, 
Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashlie  throwe, 

Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 

Than  so  himselfe  to  mockerie  to  sell. 

There  are  difficulties  about  accepting  this  as  a  picture 
of  Shakspere  at  so  early  a  date,  but  it  seems  impossible 
to  refer  these  beautiful  lines  to  anyone  else.  In  the 
period  1589-90  the  Martin  Marprelate  controversy  was 
raging,  and  the  opposing  parties  attacked  each  other 
bitterly  with  plays  and  pamphlets,  and  Shakspere  may 
have  felt  that  the  time  was  unpropitious  for  the  reception 
of  any  new  works  of  his. 

In  1594  a  second  or  summer  theatre,  the  Globe  on 
Bankside,  was  built  for  the  *  Queen's  Players,'  and  in  the 
same  year  Shakspere  dedicated  his  poem  of  '  Lucrece  '  to 
the  young  Earl  of  Southampton.  In  the  previous  year 
he  dedicated  his  *  Venus  and  Adonis  '  to  the  same  patron, 
who  is  reported  to  have  given  him  '  a  thousand  pounds 


SHAKSPERE 


191 


to  enable  him  to  go  through  with  a  purchase  which  he 
heard  he  had  a  mind  to.' 

While  Shakspere  was  thus  prospering  we  are  told 
that  he  went  every  year  to  Stratford,  and  in  1597  he 
bought  a  house  there  called  New  Place,  and  in  1602  he 
made  a  purchase  of  land,  and  was  looking  forward  to  the 
time  when  he  should  retire  and  end  his  days  in  peace  there. 

In  1598  a  writer,  Francis  Meres,  bears  witness  to  the 
growing  fame  of  Shakspere. 

As  Plautus  and  Seneca  are  accounted  the  best  for  Comedy  and  Tragedy 
among  the  Latines,  so  Shakespeare  among  the  English  is  the  most 
excellent  in  both  kinds  for  the  stage  :  for  Comedy,  witness  his  Gentle- 
men of  Verona,  his  Errors,  his  Love  labors  lost,  his  Love  labours  wonne, 
his  Midsummers  night  dream,  and  his  Merchant  of  Venice ;  for  Tragedy 
Bichard  the  2,  Kichard  the  3,  Henry  the  4,  King  John,  Titus  Andronicus 
and  his  Borneo  and  Juliet. 

In  the  same  year,  too,  began  his  intimate  friendship 
with  Ben  Jonson,  whose  play  of  '  Every  Man  in  his 
Humour  '  was  brought  out  by  the  '  Queen's  Players,' 
Shakspere  taking  a  part.  From  this  time  must  date  the 
wit  contests  of  which  Fuller  speaks. 

Many  were  the  wit  contests  betwixt  him  and  Ben  Jonson ;  which  two 
I  behold  like  a  Spanish  great  galleon  and  an  English  man  of  war : 
Master  Jonson  (like  the  former)  was  built  far  higher  in  learning ;  solid, 
but  slow,  in  his  performances.  Shakespeare  with  the  English  man-of-war, 
lesser  in  bulk,  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn  with  all  tides,  tack  about, 
and  take  advantage  of  all  winds  by  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and  invention. 

The  closing  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign  were  times  of 
trouble  for  Shakspere's  friend  and  patron  the  Earl  of 
Southampton,  and  the  poet  was  doubtless  saddened 
thereby.  He  had  also  his  own  domestic  griefs ;  his  only 
son  had  died,  and  in  1601  his  father  was  taken  from 
him.  The  works  that  probably  belong  to  this  period,  the 


192        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

'  Hamlet,'  '  Measure  for  Measure,'  *  Timon,'  '  As  you 
like  it,'  '  Lear,'  and  others,  are  marked  by  an  air  of  sad- 
ness and  weariness  of  the  world. 

I  come  no  more  to  make  you  laugh  ;  things  now 
That  beare  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow, 
Sad,  high  and  working,  full  of  state  and  woe, 
Such  noble  scenes  as  draw  the  eye  to  flow, 
We  now  present.1 

The  accession  of  the  new  king,  James  L,  brought  new 
fame  and  dignity  to  Shakspere.  Southampton  was 
released  from  prison ;  the  '  King's  Players '  were  fre- 
quently called  to  the  Court,  and  Shakspere's  plays  were 
those  most  frequently  performed.  But  the  poet  himself 
probably  soon  afterwards  retired  from  London,  though 
we  do  not  know  the  exact  year. 

In  1607  his  daughter  Susannah  was  married  to  Dr. 
John  Hall,  a  physician  of  Stratford,  and  in  1608  a 
daughter,  Elizabeth,  was  born  to  them.  In  this  year 
Mary  Shakspere,  the  poet's  mother,  died,  having  lived 
to  see  and  enjoy  her  son's  great  fame.  After  a  few 
quiet,  uneventful  years,  spent  with  his  wife  and  children 
among  the  scenes  of  his  childhood,  the  great  poet  died 
on  April  23,  1616,  a  day  which  is  thought  to  be  his 
birthday.  His  wife  outlived  him  and  died  in  1623. 


SHAKSPERE'S   SONNETS. 

So  little  is  certainly  known  of  Shakspere's  life,  and  so 
completely  does  he  withdraw  himself  from  view  in  his 
wonderful  creations,  that  his  sonnets  are  regarded  with 
peculiar  interest,  for  they  seem  to  refer  to  real  incidents 

1  Henry  VIII. 


SHAKSPERE^S  SONNETS  193 

in  the  poet's  life,  and  to  reveal  some  of  his  own  personal 
joys  and  sorrows. 

Scorn  not  the  Sonnet ;  Critic,  you  have  frowned 
Mindless  of  its  just  honours  ;  with  this  key 
Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart.- 

But  these  sonnets  are  shrouded  in  mystery.  Their 
extreme  beauty  is  apparent  to  all,  but  the  order  in 
which  they  should  be  arranged  and  the  person  or  per- 
sons to  whom  they  refer  are  quite  unknown. 

In  1598  Francis  Meres  wrote  : 

As  the  soul  of  Euphorbus  was  thought  to  live  in  Pythagoras  so  the 
sweet  witty  soul  of  Ovid  lives  in  mellifluous  and  honey-tongued  Shake- 
speare ;  witness  his  Venus  and  Adonis,  his  Lucrece,  his  sugared  sonnets 
among  his  private  friends. 

In  1609  the  sonnets,  one  hundred  and  fifty-four  in 
number,  were  published,  but  apparently  without  Shak- 
spere's  sanction  or  assistance,  and  the  publisher  pro- 
bably gathered  and  arranged  them  as  best  he  could. 
They  are  dedicated  '  To  the  onlie  begetter  of  these  in- 
suing  sonnets,  Mr.  W.  H.,'  whom  many  believe  to  be 
William  Herbert,  the  young  Earl  of  Pembroke,  the  nephew 
of  Philip  Sidney.  Others  believe  that  W.  H.  is  a  dis- 
guise for  H.  W.,  that  is,  Henry  Wriothsley,  the  young 
Earl  of  Southampton,  Shakspere's  noble  friend  and 
patron,  to  whom  he  dedicated  the  '  Venus  and  Adonis  ' 
and  the  '  Lucrece.' 

It  appears  almost  certain  that  a  considerable  number 
of  the  sonnets  are  addressed  to  some  high-born  and 
beautiful  youth  in  whose  society  Shakspere  took  delight, 
finding  in  it  a  welcome  relief  from  the  base  and  degrad- 
ing surroundings  of  his  calling. 

1  Wordsworth. 

O 


!94        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

0,  for  my  sake  doe  you  with  Fortune  chide, 

The  guiltie  goddesse  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide 

Than  publick  meanes,  which  publicJc  manners  breeds. 
Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand 

And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  workes  in,  like  the  dyer's  }iand  : 

Pitty  me  then,  and  wish  I  were  renewed  ; 
Pitty  me  then,  deare  friend,  and  I  assure  yee, 
Even  that  your  pittie  is  enough  to  cure  me. 

In  one  of  the  sonnets  he  celebrates  the  beauty  of 
his  friend  with  an  excess  of  praise,  which  was  in  the 
manner  of  the  time  and  which  seems  due  to  Italian 
influence. 

When  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 

I  see  descriptions  of  the  fairest  wights, 
And  beautie  making  beautifull  old  rime, 

In  praise  of  ladies  dead  and  lovely  knights, 
Then,  in  the  blazon  of  sweet  beauties  best, 

Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lip,  of  eye,  of  brow, 
I  see  their  antique  pen  would  have  express'd 

Even  such  a  beautie  as  you  master  now 
So  all  their  prayses  are  but  prophesies 

Of  this  our  time,  all  you  prefiguring ; 
And  for  they  look'd  but  with  divining  eyes, 

They  had  not  skill  enough  your  worth  to  sing  : 
For  we,  which  now  behold  these  present  dayes, 
Have  eyes  to  wonder,  but  lack  tongues  to  praise. 

In  another  sonnet  he  says  that  the  charms  of  spring 
and  summer  have  no  power  to  please  while  his  friend  is 
absent. 

From  you  I  have  beene  absent  in  the  spring, 
When  proud-pide  Aprile,  dresst  in  all  his  trim, 

Hath  put  a  spirit  of  youth  in  everything  ; 

That  heavie  Saturn  laught  and  leapt  with  him. 

Yet  nor  the  laies  of  birds,  nor  the  sweet  smell 
Of  different  flowers  in  odor  and  in  hew, 


SHAKSPERE'S  SONNETS  195 

Could  make  me  any  sommer's  story  tell, 

Or  from  their  proud  lap  pluck  them  where  they  grew, 
Yet  seemed  it  winter  still,  and,  you  away, 
As  with  your  shaddow  I  with  these  did  play. 

In  another  he  says  that  the  thought  of  his  absent 
friend  can  charm  away  sorrow. 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 

I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 
I  sigh  the  lacke  of  many  a  thing  I  sought, 

And  with  old  woes  new  waile  my  deare  times'  waste. 
Then  can  I  drowne  an  eye,  unused  to  flow, 

For  precious  friends  hid  in  death's  datelesse  night, 
And  weepe  afresh  love's  long-since  canceld  woe, 

And  moane  th'  expense  of  many  a  vanisht  sight. 
But  if  the  while  I  thinke  on  thee,  deare  friend, 
All  losses  are  restored,  and  sorrowes  end. 

In  several  of  the  sonnets  he  playfully  urges  his  friend 
to  marry. 

When  fortie  winters  shall  besiege  thy  brow, 

And  digge  deep  trenches  in  thy  beauty's  field, 
Thy  youthes  proud  livery,  so  gazed  on  now, 

Will  be  a  tattered  weed,  of  small  worth  held : 
Then,  being  askt  where  all  thy  beautie  lies, 

Where  all  the  treasure  of  the  lusty  dayes ; 
To  say,  within  thine  owne  deepe-sunken  eyes, 

Were  an  all-eating  shame,  and  thriftlesse  praise. 
How  much  more  praise  deserved  thy  beauties  use, 

If  thou  couldst  answere— '  This  faire  child  of  mine 
Shall  sum  my  count,  and  make  my  old  excuse,' 

Prooving  his  beautie  by  succession  thine  ! 
This  were  to  be  new-made,  when  thou  art  old, 
And  see  thy  blood  warme  when  thou  feelst  it  cold. 

In  a  sonnet  of  great  beauty  the  poet  describes  plain- 
tively the  approach  of  age  which  is  stealing  upon  him. 

That  time  of  yeare  thou  maist  in  mee  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few  doe  hang 
Upon  those  boughes  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

02 


196       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  me  thou  seest  the  twilight  of  such  day 

As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west, 

Which  by  and  by  blacke  night  doth  take  away, 

Death's  second  selfe,  that  seales  up  all  in  rest. 

In  me  thou  seest  the  glowing  of  such  fire 

That  on  the  ashes  of  his  youth  doth  lie, 

As  the  death  bed  whereon  it  must  expire, 

Consum'd  with  that  which  it  was  nurrisht  by. 

This  thou  perceiv'st,  which  makes  thy  love  more  strong 

To  love  that  well  which  thou  must  leave  ere  long. 


SHAKSPERE'S   EARLIER   PLAYS. 

THE  true  chronology  of  Shakspere's  plays  cannot  now 
be  determined  exactly.  Had  the  poet's  life  been  spared 
a  few  years  longer  he  would  perhaps  have  prepared  a  full 
and  authoritative  edition  of  his  works.  As  it  is,  the  first 
edition  of  his  collected  plays  appeared  seven  years  after  his 
death,  and  in  the  burning  of  the  Globe  Theatre  in  1613 
probably  many  of  his  original  manuscripts  perished. 

It  is  true  a  considerable  number  of  single  plays  were 
published  during  Shakspere's  lifetime,  but  probably 
without  his  sanction  or  assistance,  for  the  editors  of  the 
first  folio  edition  of  1623  say,  '  Before,  you  were  abused 
with  divers  stolen  and  surreptitious  copies,  maimed  and 
deformed  by  the  frauds  and  stealths  of  injurious  im- 
postors that  exposed  them.' 

One  of  Shakspere's  very  earliest  plays  is  thought  to  be 
the  'Henry  VI.,'  of  which  there  are  now  Parts  I.,  II.,  and 
III.  The  second  and  third  parts  are  recastings  of  two 
older  plays,  '  The  First  Part  of  the  Contention  of  the 
Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,'  and  '  The  True  Tragedie 
of  Richard,  Duke  of  York,'  and  it  is  thought  that  Greene, 


SffAKSPERE>S  EARLIER  PLAYS 


197 


Marlowe,  and  Shakspere  were  the  joint  authors  of  these 
old  plays,  and  that  a  year  or  two  later  Shakspere,  aided 
perhaps  by  Marlowe,  revised  them,  omitting  and  altering 
many  lines  of  the  old  plays,  and  adding  nearly  three 
thousand  new  lines. 

Some  have  thought  that  Shakspere  had  no  hand  in 
the  composition  of  the  old  plays,  but  the  humorous  scenes 
in  which  Jack  Cade  appears  bear  Shakspere's  stamp,  and 
they  appear  in  the  older  plays,  though  not  in  so  full  a 
form  as  in  the  later  ones. 


FIRST  PART  OF  THE  'CONTENTION.' 

Thou  hast  most  traitorously 
erected  a  grammar  school  to  infect 
the  youth  of  the  realme ;  and 
against  the  king's  crowne  and 
dignity  thou  hast  built  up  a  paper 
mill ;  nay,  it  will  be  said  to  thy 
face,  that  thou  keepst  men  in  thy 
house  that  daily  read  of  bookes 
with  red  letters,  and  talk  of  a  noune 
and  verbe,  and  such  abhomin- 
able  words  as  no  Christian  eare  is 
able  to  endure  it.  And  besides  all 
this,  thou  hast  appointed  certain 
justices  of  the  peace  in  every  shire, 
to  hang  honest  men  that  steal  for 
their  living ;  and  because  they 
could  not  read,  thou  hast  hung 
them  up ;  only  for  which  cause 
they  were  most  worthy  to  live. 


'HENRY  VI.'    PART  II. 

Thou  hast  most  traitorously 
corrupted  the  youth  of  the  realme 
in  erecting  a  grammar  schoole ; 
and  whereas,  before,  our  forefathers 
had  no  other  bookes  but  the  score 
and  the  tally,  thou  hast  caused 
printing  to  be  used  ;  and  contrary 
to  the  king  his  crowne  and  dignity, 
thou  hast  built  a  paper  mill.  It 
will  be  prooved  to  thy  face  that  thou 
hast  men  about  thee,  that  usually 
talke  of  a  noune  and  a  verbe,  and 
such  abhominable  words  as  no 
Christian  eare  can  endure  to  heare. 
Thou  hast  appointed  justices  of 
peace,  to  call  poore  men  before 
them  about  matters  they  were  not 
able  to  answer.  Moreover  thou 
hast  put  them  in  prison ;  and 
because  they  could  not  reade,  thou 
hast  hanged  them  ;  when  indeede 
onely  for  that  cause  they  have 
beene  most  worthy  to  live. 

It  is  thought  Shakspere  soon  afterwards,  and  while 
still  under  the  influence  of  Marlowe's  companionship, 


198        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

wrote  his  'Richard  III.,'  for  the  fierce  energy  and  un- 
bridled wickedness  of  Kichard  is  in  the  manner  of  the 
author  of  '  Tamburlaine  '  and  '  Faustus.' 

*  Kichard  II.'  is  a  less  powerful  work  than  '  Richard 
III.,'  but  in  it  Shakspere  entered  on  a  path  more  natural  to 
his  own  genius,  with  more  of  beauty  and  less  of  violence, 
and  before  the  close  of  the  century  he  had  completed 
with  'Henry  IV.'  and  'Henry  V.'  his  fine  series  of  English 
chronicle  plays.  '  Henry  VIII.'  belongs  to  a  later  time, 
and  is  only  in  part  the  work  of  Shakspere. 

These  plays  among  their  many  great  beauties  contain 
fine  passages  which  breathe  a  noble  spirit  of  patriotism, 
as  in  the  dying  speech  of  Gaunt. 

This  royall  throne  of  kings,  this  sceptred  isle, 

This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seate  of  Mars, 

This  other  Eden,  demy-paradise  ; 

This  fortresse,  built  by  Nature  for  herselfe, 

Against  infection  and  the  hand  of  warre  ; 

This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world  ; 

This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 

Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 

Or  as  a  moate  defensive  to  a  house, 

Against  the  envy  of  lesse  happier  lands  ; 

This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realme,  this  England, 

This  nurse,  this  teeming  wombe  of  royal  kings, 

Fear'd  by  their  breed,  and  famous  by  their  birth, 

Kenowned  for  their  deeds  as  farre  from  home 

(For  Christian  service,  and  true  chivalrie) 

As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jury 

Of  the  world's  ransome,  blessed  Maries  Sonne ; 

This  land  of  such  deere  soules,  this  deere,  deere  land 

Is  now  leased  out  (I  die  pronouncing  it) 

Like  to  a  tenement,  or  pelting  farme. 

Meanwhile  Shakspere  had  been  writing  a  series  of 
beautiful  comedies,  beginning  probably  with  '  Love's 


SHAKSPERE'S  EARLIER  PLAYS  199 

Labour's  Lost '  and  the  *  Comedy  of  Errors,'  and  lead- 
ing up  through  the  '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream '  and 
the  '  Merchant  of  Venice '  to  '  Much  Ado  about  No- 
thing '  and  '  Twelfth  Night.'  The  tragedy  of  '  Komeo 
and  Juliet '  also  belongs  to  this  early  period,  and  in  some 
of  these  plays  there  is  an  outpouring  of  beautiful  fancies 
so  great  as  to  be  almost  a  defect,  and  we  account  the 
plays  '  poetical  rather  than  dramatic,  because  the  inde- 
scribable profusion  of  imaginative  poetry  overpowers  our 
senses  till  we  can  hardly  observe  anything  else.' l 

The  *  Midsummer  Night's  Dream '  above  all  abounds 
with  such  passages,  but  we  have  space  for  one  only. 
Oberon  is  sending  Puck  to  bring  a  flower  which  has 
magical  properties,  and  he  uses  language  which  seems  to 
have  been  meant  by  the  poet  as  a  compliment  to  the 
virgin  queen  Elizabeth. 

I  saw, 

Flying  betweene  the  cold  moone  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  armed  ;  a  certaine  aime  he  tooke 
At  a  faire  vestall,  throned  by  the  west, 
And  loos'd  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow, 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts : 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quencht  in  the  chaste  beames  of  the  watery  moone  ; 
And  the  imperiall  votress  passed  on, 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy  free. 
Yet  markt  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 
It  fell  upon  a  little  westerne  flower, — 
Before,  milke  white,  now  purple  with  love's  wound, 
And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idlenesse. 
Fetch  me  that  flower. 

1  Hallam. 


200       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

SHAKSPERE'S   LATER    PLAYS. 

THE  plays  which  Shakspere  wrote  from  about  1600  onward^ 
though  not  less  beautiful  than  the  earlier  ones,  are  filled 
with  a  deeper  and  sadder  meaning.  '  There  seems  to 
have  been  a  period  of'Shakspere's  life  when  his  heart  was 
ill  at  ease,  and  ill  content  with  the  world  or  his  own  con- 
science. The  memory  of  hours  misspent,  the  pang  of 
affection  misplaced  or  unrequited,  the  experience  of  man's 
worser  nature — these  as  they  sank  down  into  the  depths 
of  his  great  mind  seem  not  only  to  have  inspired  into  it 
the  conception  of  Lear  and  Timon,  but  that  of  one 
primary  character,  the  censurer  of  mankind.  This  type 
is  first  seen  in  the  philosophic  melancholy  of  Jaques  (in 
'  As  you  like  it ')  gazing  with  an  undiminished  serenity 
on  the  follies  of  the  world.  It  assumes  a  graver  cast  in 
the  exiled  duke  of  the  same  play,  and  next,  one  rather 
more  severe  in  the  duke  of  '  Measure  for  Measure.' 1 

The  mild  and  saddened  wisdom  of  '  As  you  like  it ' 
is  shown  in  the  duke's  address  to  his  companions. 

Now,  my  coe-mates  and  brothers  in  exile, 

Hath  not  old  custome  made  this  life  more  sweete 

Then  that  of  painted  pompe  ?    Are  not  these  woods 

More  free  from  perill  then  the  envious  court  ? 

Heere  feel  we  not  the  penalty  of  Adam, 

The  season's  difference,— as  the  icie  fang, 

And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  winde, 

Which  when  it  bites  and  blowes  upon  my  body, 

Even  till  I  shrinke  with  cold,  I  smile,  and  sayr 

This  is  no  flattery, — these  are  counsellors 

That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversitie, 

Which  like  the  toade,  ugly  and  venomous, 

1  Hallam. 


SHAKSPER&S  LATER  PLAYS  201 

Weares  yet  a  precious  Jewell  in  his  head  ; 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  publike  haunt, 
Findes  tongues  in  teees,  bookes  in  the  running  brookes, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 

From  *  Measure  for  Measure '  we  may  extract,  as  illus- 
trating the  poet's  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  and  man, 
Isabella's  speech. 

Could  great  men  thunder 

As  Jove  himselfe  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  pelting,  petty  officer 

Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder ;  nothing  but  thunder. 
Mercifull  heaven ! 

Thou  rather,  with  thy  sharpe  and  sulphrous  bolt, 
Splitt'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oke, 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  :  but  man,  proud  man  1 
Dresst  in  a  little  briefe  authoritie, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assured, 
His  glassie  essence,— like  an  angry  ape, 
Plaies  such  fantastique  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weepe. 

And  also  the  sweet  but  sad  little  song : 

Take,  oh,  take  those  lips  away, 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworne  ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  breake  of  day, 

Lights  that  doe  mislead  the  morne : 
But  my  kisses  bring  againe, 

bring  againe, 

Scales  of  love,  but  sealed  in  vaine, 
sealed  in  vaine. 

To  this  period  of  Shakspere's  life  belong  the  noble 
series  of  plays  on  Roman  history—'  Julius  Caesar,' 
*  Antony  and  Cleopatra,'  and  '  Coriolanus ' ;  and  also 
the  four  great  tragedies — '  Hamlet,'  *  Othello,'  '  Lear,' 
and  *  Macbeth ' — which  are  undoubtedly  the  master- 
pieces of  Shakspere's  wonderful  genius. 

This  period  of  unrest  and  mental  struggle  seems  to 


202        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

have  passed  away,  and  in  '  The  Winter's  Tale '  and 
'  The  Tempest,'  which  are  perhaps  his  latest  works,  the 
poet  seems  to  return  to  his  earlier  manner  and  to  de- 
light in  depicting  scenes  of  romantic  beauty.  Shaks- 
pere  was  now  retired  to  Stratford,  and  the  village  festivals 
of  '  The  Winter's  Tale  '  were  such  as  he  saw  around  him 
and  such  as  he  took  part  in  when  he  was  young. 

*  The  Tempest '  contains  Caliban,  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  of  Shakspere's  creations,  a  being  so  brutish 
and  yet  with  such  touches  of  imagination. 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother, 

Which  thou  tak'st  from  me.     When  thou  earnest  first 

Thou  stroak'dst  me,  and  mad'st  much  of  me,  wouldst  give  me 

Water  with  berries  in't ;  and  teach  me  how 

To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  lesse, 

That  burne  by  day  and  night ;  and  then  I  lov'd  thee, 

And  shew'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle, 

The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  place  and  fertil ; 

Cursed  be  I  that  did  so  !     All  the  charmes 

Of  Sycorax,  toades,  beetles,  batts  light  on  you  ! 

And  again  poor  Caliban  says  : 

The  isle  is  full  of  noyses, 

Sounds  and  sweet  aires,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not : 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  eares  ;  and  sometimes  voices 
That  if  I  then  had  waked  after  long  sleepe, 
Will  make  me  sleepe  againe ;  and  then  in  dreaming 
The  clouds  methought  would  open  and  shew  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me  ;  that  when  I  waked 
I  cride  to  dreanie  againe. 

Prospero,  the  gentle  magician  who  wields  such  vast 
powers  but  uses  them  for  such  kindly  purposes,  may 
well  be  taken  to  symbolise  Shakspere  himself,  and  one  or 
two  of  his  speeches  read  like  the  poet's  farewell  to  the 
world. 


RALEIGH  203 

Our  revels  now  are  ended :  these  our  actors 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  ayre,  into  thin  ayre  ; 
And,  like  the  baselesse  fabricke  of  this  vision. 
The  clowd  capt  towres,  the  gorgeous  pallaces, 
The  solemne  temples,  the  great  globe  itselfe, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve  ; 
And  like  this  unsubstantiall  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  racke  behinde.    We  are  such  stuffe 
As  dreames  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleepe. 


RALEIGH. 

AMONG  the  band  of  remarkable  men  who  adorned  the 
court  of  Elizabeth  Sir  Walter  Kaleigh  was  one  of  the  fore- 
most, but  he  was  famed  rather  for  what  he  did  than  for 
what  he  wrote.  His  writings  are  either  graceful  poetical 
trifles,  or  narratives  of  travel  and  adventure  dashed  off 
in  his  intervals  of  rest,  or  laborious  historical  studies 
with  which  he  sought  to  relieve  the  terrible  monotony  of 
imprisonment. 

He  was  born  in  1552  in  Devon,  the  county  of 
Jewell  and  Hooker  and  Drake  and  Sir  Humphrey 
Gilbert,  the  last  of  whom  was  Kaleigh's  half-brother. 
Ealeigh  was  at  Oxford  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  it  is 
thought  that  he  then  served  as  volunteer  with  the  Hugo- 
nots  in  France.  In  1580  he  went  with  Lord  Grey 
and  the  poet  Spenser  to  Ireland  and  took  a  leading  part 
in  the  terrible  slaughter  at  Srnerwick  Bay.  He  gained 
much  renown  in  Ireland  for  valour  and  judgment,  and 
when  he  returned  to  the  English  court  in  1582  he  was 
graciously  received  by  the  queen  and  was  her  chief 
favourite  for  years  to  come.  The  story  of  his  spreading 


204       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

his  cloak  for  her  to  walk  over  is  well  known,  and  it  is 
said  that  he  wrote  on  a  pane  of  glass  which  would  catch 
the  queen's  eye : 

Fain  would  I  climb  but  that  I  fear  to  fall ; 

and  that  she  wrote  under  it : 

If  thy  heart  fail  thee,  then  climb  not  at  all. 

Eiches  flowed  fast  upon  him  from  the  queen's  bounty, 
estates  both  in  England  and  Ireland,  grants  of  the 
duties  upon  wine  and  wool,  and  much  of  these  riches 
was  expended  in  expeditions  to  colonise  America. 

In  the  great  year  1588  Ealeigh  helped  to  beat  off  the 
Armada,  and  he  thus  speaks  of  it  in  a  work  written  a 
few  years  later : 

It  is  no  marvell  that  the  Spaniard  should  seeke  by  false  and  slandrous 
pamphlets,  advisees  and  letters  to  cover  their  own  losse  and  to  derogate 
from  others  their  due  honours ;  seeing  they  were  not  ashamed  in  the 
yeare  1588  when  they  perposed  the  invasion  of  this  land  to  publish  in 
sundrie  languages  in  print,  great  victories  in  wordes  which  they  pleaded 
to  have  obtained  against  this  realme.  When  shortly  after  it  was  happily 
manifested  in  verie  deed  to  all  nations,  how  their  navy  which  they  termed 
invincible  consisting  of  240  saile  of  ships,  not  onely  of  their  own  king- 
dom but  strengthened  with  the  greatest  argosies,  Portugall  caractes, 
Florentines  and  huge  hulkes  of  other  countries  ;  were  by  thirtie  of  her 
Majesties  owne  shippes  of  warre  and  a  few  of  our  own  merchants  beaten 
and  shuffeled  together  even  from  the  Lizard  in  Cornwall ;  first  to  Port- 
land where  they  shamefully  left  Don  Pedro  de  Valdes  with  his  mighty 
shippe ;  from  Portland  to  Gales  where  they  lost  Hugo  de  Moncado,  and 
from  Gales  driven  with  squibs  from  their  anchors ;  were  chased  out  of 
the  sight  of  England,  round  about  Scotland  and  Ireland.  With  all  which 
so  great  and  terrible  an  ostentation  they  did  not  in  all  their  sailing  rounde 
about  England  so  much  as  sink  or  take  one  ship  barke,  pinnes,  or  cock- 
bote  of  ours ;  or  even  burnt  so  much  as  one  sheep  cote  of  this  land. 

In  1589  Ealeigh  was  in  Ireland,  and  he  visited 
Spenser  at  Kilcolman,  read  the  early  books  of  the 
'  Faerie  Queene '  and  persuaded  the  poet  to  bring  them 


RALEIGH  205 

to  London  and  lay  them  before  Elizabeth.  In  the 
following  year  the  poem  was  published,  and  Kaleigh  pre- 
fixed to  it  the  following  fine,  though  somewhat  extrava- 
gant, sonnet  :— 

Methought  I  saw  the  grave  where  Laura  lay, 

Within  that  temple  where  the  vestal  flame 
Was  wonte  to  burne  ;  and  passing  by  that  way, 

To  see  that  burned  dust  of  living  fame, 
Whose  tumbe  faire  love,  and  fairer  vertue  kept, 

All  suddenly  I  saw  the  Faery  Queene : 
At  whose  approch  the  soule  of  Petrarke  wepte, 

And  from  thenceforth  those  graces  were  not  scene ; 
For  they  this  queene  attended  ;  in  whose  steed 

Oblivion  laid  him  downe  on  Lauras  herse, 
Hereat  the  hardest  stones  were  seene  to  bleed, 

And  grones  of  buried  ghostes  the  hevens  did  perse ; 
Where  Homers  spright  did  tremble  all  for  griefe, 

And  curst  th'  accesse  of  that  celestiall  thiefe. 

Here  also  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the  answer  to 
Marlowe's  fine  song  *  Come  live  with  me  and  be  my 
Love '  is  said  by  Izaak  Walton  to  have  been  written  by 
Raleigh.  The  last  three  verses  are — 

Thy  gownes,  thy  shooes,  thy  beds  of  roses, 
Thy  cap,  thy  kirtle,  and  thy  posies 
Soon  breake,  soon  wither,  soon  forgotten 
In  folly  ripe  in  reason  rotten. 
Thy  belt  of  straw,  and  ivie  buds, 
Thy  corell  clasps  and  amber  studs, 
All  these  in  me  no  meanes  can  move 
To  come  to  thee  and  be  thy  love. 
But  could  youth  last,  and  love  still  breed, 
Had  joyes  no  date,  nor  age  no  neede, 
Then  these  delights  my  minde  might  move 
To  live  with  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 

In  1591  Raleigh  wrote  a  report  of  the  last  fight  of 
the  '  Revenge '  in  which  his  kinsman,  Sir  Richard  Gren- 
ville,  fell  fighting  against  a  host  of  Spaniards,  The  ex- 


2o6       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

tract  referring  to  the  Armada  which  has  been  already 
given  is  taken  from  this  account,  but  one  other  may  also 
be  taken. 

All  the  powder  of  the  Revenge  to  the  last  barrell  was  now  spent,  all 
her  pikes  broken,  fortie  of  her  best  men  slaine,  and  the  most  part  of  the 
rest  hurt;  the  mastes  all  beaten  over  board,  all  her  tackle  cut  a  sunder,  her 
upper  worke  altogether  rased,  and  in  effect  evened  shee  was  with  the  water, 
but  the  verie  foundation  or  bottom  of  a  ship,  nothing  being  left  over  head 
either  for  flight  or  defence.  Syr  Eichard  finding  himself  in  this  distresse 
and  unable  anie  longer  to  make  resistance,  having  endured  in  this  fifteene 
houres  fight,  the  assault  of  fifteene  severall  Armadoes,  all  by  tournes 
aboorde  him,  and  that  himselfe  and  the  shippe  must  needes  be  possessed 
by  the  anemic  who  were  now  all  cast  in  a  ring  round  about  him :  com- 
manded the  master  gunner  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  most  resolute  man  to 
split  and  sinke  the  shippe ;  that  thereby  nothing  might  remaine  of  glorie 
or  victorie  to  the  Spaniards. 

In  1592  Raleigh  lost  the  queen's  favour  on  account 
of  his  marriage,  and  he  was  excluded  from  her  presence 
till  1596.  In  1595  he  went  to  Guiana  to  seek  the  famous 
city  of  El  Dorado,  and  on  his  return  he  wrote  a  most  in- 
teresting account  of  his  voyage  and  adventures. 

He  sailed  up  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Orinoco  and  he 
thus  describes  the  river  banks : 

On  the  banks  of  these  rivers  were  divers  sortes  of  fruits  good  to  eat, 
flowers  and  trees  of  that  variety  as  were  sufficient  to  make  tenne  volumes 
of  herbals.  We  relieved  ourselves  many  times  with  the  fruits  of  the 
countrey  and  sometimes  with  fowle  and  fish.  Wee  saw  birds  of  all 
colours,  some  carnation,  some  crimson,  orenge  tawny,  purple,  watchet, 
and  of  all  other  sorts  both  simple  and  mixt,  as  it  was  unto  us  a  great 
good  passing  of  the  time  to  beholde  them,  besides  the  reliefe  we  found  by 
killing  some  store  of  them  with  our  fowling  pieces,  without  which,  having 
little  or  no  bread  and  lesse  drink,  but  onely  the  thicke  and  troubled  water 
of  the  river,  we  had  beene  in  a  very  hard  case. 

And  he  thus  describes  one  of  the  women  of  the 
country  : 

A  cassique  that  was  a  stranger  had  his  wife  staying  at  the  port  where 
wee  anckered  and  in  all  my  life  I  have  seldome  scene  a  better  favoured 


RALEIGH  207 

woman ;  shee  was  of  good  stature,  with  blacke  eyes,  fat  of  body,  of  an 
excellent  countenance,  her  haire  almost  as  long  as  herselfe,  tied  up  againe 
in  pretie  knots  and  it  seemed  shee  stood  not  in  that  awe  of  her  husband 
as  the  rest ;  for  shee  spake  and  discoursed  and  dranke  among  the  gentle- 
men and  captaines,  and  was  very  pleasant,  knowing  hei?owne  comelinesse, 
and  taking  great  pride  therein.  I  have  seene  a  lady  in  England  so  like 
her,  as  but  for  the  difference  of  colour  I  would  have  sworne  might  have 
been  the  same. 

The  following  account  of  the  drinking  customs  of  El 
Dorado  is  from  hearsay  only : 

Those  Guianians  and  also  the  borderers  and  all  others  in  that  tract 
which  I  have  seene  are  marvellous  great  drunkards,  in  which  vice  I  thinke 
no  nation  can  compare  with  them,  and  at  the  times  of  their  solemne 
feasts  when  the  Emperor  carowseth  with  his  captaines,  tributaries  and 
governors  the  maner  is  thus.  All  those  that  pledge  him  are  first  stripped 
naked  and  their  bodies  anointed  all  over  with  a  kind  of  white  balsamm. 
When  they  are  anointed  all  over,  certeine  servants  of  the  Emperor  having 
prepared  golde  made  into  fine  powder  blow  it  thorow  hollow  canes  upon 
their  naked  bodies  untill  they  be  all  shining  from  the  foot  to  the  head  ; 
and  in  this  sort  they  sit  drinking  by  twenties  and  hundreds,  and  continue 
in  drunkennesse  sometimes  six  or  seven  dayes  together. 

When  Queen  Elizabeth  died  Raleigh's  good  fortune 
was  gone.  King  James  received  him  roughly  :  '  On  niy 
soul,  man,  I  have  heard  but  rawly  of  thee,'  and  rightly  or 
wrongly  he  was  implicated  with  Cobham  and  others  in  a 
plot  against  the  king  and  was  condemned  to  die.  His 
life  was  spared,  but  he  remained  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower 
for  twelve  years,  from  December  1603  to  January  1616. 
These  weary  years  he  spent  in  making  experiments  in 
chemistry,  in  distilling  cordials,  in  poring  over  ancient 
records,  and  especially  in  writing  his  '  History  of  the 
World.'  One  folio  volume  only  was  written,  but  four 
were  intended,  and  the  history  comes  down  only  as  far  as 
the  wars  of  the  Romans  with  Antiochus.  It  is  a  weari- 
some book  now  to  read,  but  its  monotony  is  relieved  by 


208       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

bursts  of  eloquence  of  which  one  of  the  finest  is  the  invo- 
cation to  death  with  which  the  work  closes. 

It  is  death  alone  that  can  suddenly  make  man  to  know  himselfe.  He 
tels  the  proud  and  insolent,  that  they  are  but  abjects,  and  humbles  them 
at  the  instant ;  makes  them  crie,  complaine,  and  repent ;  yea,  even  to 
hate  their  fore-passed  happinesse.  He  takes  the  account  of  the  rich  and 
proves  him  a  beggar  ;  a  naked  beggar  which  hath  interest  in  nothing  but 
in  the  gravell  that  fils  his  mouth.  He  holds  a  glasse  before  the  eyes  of 
the  most  beautifull,  and  makes  them  see  therein  their  deformitie  and 
rottennesse  ;  and  they  acknowledge  it. 

0  eloquent  just  and  mightie  death  !  Whom  none  could  advise,  t*hou 
hast  perswaded  ;  what  none  have  dared,  thou  hast  done  ;  and  whom  all 
the  world  hath  flattered,  thou  only  hast  cast  out  of  the  world  and  despised  ; 
thou  hast  drawne  together  all  the  farre  stretched  greatnesse,  all  the 
pride,  crueltie,  and  ambition  of  man,  and  covered  it  all  over  with  these 
two  narrow  words  Hie  jacet. 

Raleigh  was  released  from  the  Tower  to  go  on  his 
last  expedition  to  Guiana,  an  expedition  which  went  all 
to  ruin,  and  then  came  the  sad  final  scene  of  his  life. 

*  Ealeigh  was  heheaded  in  Old  Palace  yard ;  he  ap- 
peared on  the  scaffold  there  about  eight  o'clock  that 
morning ;  an  immense  crowd,  all  London  and  in  a  sense 
all  England  looking  on.  He  had  failed  of  finding 
Eldorados  in  the  Indies  lately ;  he  had  failed,  and  also 
succeeded  in  many  things  in  his  time;  he  returned 
home  "  with  his  brain  and  his  heart  broken  "  as  he  said ; 
and  the  Spaniards  who  found  King  James  willing,  now 
wished  that  he  should  die.  A  very  tragic  scene.  Such 
a  man  with  his  head  grown  gray ;  with  his  strong  heart 
breaking — still  strength  enough  in  it  to  break  with 
dignity.  Somewhat  proudly  he  laid  his  old  gray  head 
on  the  block,  as  if  saying,  in  better  than  words,  "  There 

than !  "  M 

1  Carlyle. 


BACON  209 

The  following  quaint  poem  was  written  by  Ealeigh 
*  after  his  condemnation  the  day  before  his  death  ' : 

Give  me  my  Scallop-shell  of  Quiet, 

My  staff  of  Faith  to  walk  upon  ; 

My  scrip  of  joy,  immortal  diet, 

My  bottle  of  Salvation. 

My  gown  of  Glory,  (Hope's  true  gage) 

And  thus  I'll  take  my  pilgrimage 

Over  the  silver  mountains, 

Where  spring  the  nectar  fountains, 

There  will  I  kiss  the  bowl  of  bliss 

And  drink  mine  everlasting  fill 

Upon  every  milky  hill. 

Then  the  blessed  parts  we'll  travel, 

Strow'd  with  rubies  thick  as  gravel. 

Cielings  of  diamonds,  saphire  flowers, 

High  walls  of  coral,  and  pearly  bowers. 

From  thence  to  Heavens  bribeless  hall, 

Where  no  corrupted  voices  brawl, 

No  conscience  molten  into  gold, 

No  forg'd  accuser  bought  or  sold, 

No  cause  deferr'd,  no  vain  spent  journey, 

For  there  Christ  is  the  Kings  attorney, 

Who  pleads  for  all  without  degrees, 

And  he  hath  angels  but  no  fees. 


BACON. 

FRANCIS  BACON,  the  greatest  intellect  save  one  of  the 
great  age  of  Elizabeth,  was  born  in  1561  at  York  House 
in  the  Strand.  His  father  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon  was  the 
Lord  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  and  the  boy  Francis  was 
often  in  the  queen's  presence  and 

She  delighted  much  to  confer  with  him  and  to  prove  him  with 
questions.  Unto  whom  he  delivered  himself  with  that  gravity  and 
maturity  above  his  years,  that  Her  Majesty  would  often  term  him,  '  The 

P 


2io       HANDBOOK  OP'  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

young  Lord  Keeper.'  Being  asked  by  the  Queen  '  How  old  he  was  ? ' 
He  answered  with  much  discretion,  being  then  but  a  boy,  '  That  he  was 
two  years  younger  than  Her  Majesty's  happy  reign.'  With  which 
answer  the  Queen  was  much  taken.1 

At  the  age  of  twelve  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge  and 
at  sixteen  he  was  admitted  an  '  Ancient '  of  Gray's  Inn, 
and  he  then  spent  a  few  years  in  France.  When  he  was 
nineteen  his  father  died  and  his  hopes  of  advancement 
which  appeared  so  flourishing  were  blighted,  and  for 
years  we  have  a  miserable  record  of  efforts  to  gain  the 
queen's  favour  baffled  again  and  again.  Lord  Burleigh 
and  his  son  Kobert  Cecil,  though  they  were  near  kinsmen 
of  Bacon,  seemed  to  distrust  him,  and  he  was  steadily 
kept  in  the  background.  He  had  been  an  earnest  student 
of  the  law,  and  he  did  at  last  rise  to  be  Lord  Chancellor, 
but  it  was  many  years  before  he  mounted  the  lowest  step 
leading  to  that  great  elevation.  His  originality  and  the 
vastness  of  his  intellectual  aims  may  probably  have 
caused  practical  men  of  the  world  to  distrust  him  because 
they  could  not  understand  him,  as  in  our  own  age  ap- 
pointments requiring  the  exercise  of  only  moderate 
powers  were  refused  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

In  an  earnest  appeal  to  Lord  Burleigh  in  1591  Bacon 
speaks  of  himself  as  '  waxing  now  somewhat  ancient ; 
one  and  thirty  years  is  a  great  deal  of  sand  in  the  hour 
glass.'  It  was  not  a  vulgar  ambition  that  incited  him, 
no  mere  desire  of  official  advancement,  but  he  rather 
wished  a  post  that  would  enable  him  to  produce  some 
work  worthy  of  the  queen's  acceptance.  '  I  confess  I 
have  as  vast  contemplative  ends  as  I  have  moderate  civil 
ends ;  for  I  have  taken  all  knowledge  to  be  my  province.' 
1  Dr.  Bawley. 


He  found  one  warm  friend  at  Court,  the  Earl  of 
Essex,  but  even  he  could  not  obtain  for  Bacon  the 
Attorney-generalship,  which  was  given  instead  to  Edward 
Coke.  Bacon  was  sorely  disappointed,  and  to  comfort 
him  and  to  relieve  his  straitened  condition  Essex  gave 
him  an  estate  worth  £1,800.  Some  half-dozen  years 
later  Essex  made  mad  shipwreck  of  his  own  fortunes, 
and  one  is  pained  to  find  Bacon  appear  as  one  of  the 
'  Queen's  Counsel '  against  him  at  his  trial.  Bacon  may 
have  hoped  in  some  degree  to  have  shielded  the  earl,  but 
it  would  have  been  better  for  his  own  fame  to  have  ap- 
peared for  Essex  or  not  at  all. 

Meanwhile  his  pen  had  not  been  idle  and  in  1597  ap- 
peared the  first  edition  of  his  famous  essays,  a  kind  of 
writing  almost  new  to  English  literature.  In  1580  the 
great  Frenchman  Montaigne  had  published  his  celebrated 
*  Essais,'  a  work  which  went  through  many  editions,  and 
which  spread  at  once  into  all  parts  of  Europe.  Antony 
Bacon,  the  elder  brother  of  Francis,  in  1582  came  into 
personal  communication  with  Montaigne  at  Bordeaux, 
and  no  doubt  Francis  at  an  early  date  read  and  admired 
these  famous  c  Essais.' 

Bacon's  own  essays  though  suggested  by  Montaigne's 
are  of  a  different  type,  and  he  has  himself  described 
them  as 

Certaine  breif  notes,  sett  down  rather  significantlye  then  curiously, 
which  I  have  called  Essaies.  The  word  is  late,  but  the  thing  is  auncient. 
For  Senecaes  Epistles  to  Lucilius,  yf  one  marke  them  well,  are  but 
Essaies.  That  is  dispersed  Meditacions,  thoughe  conveyed  in  the  forme 
of  Epistles. 

In  this  first  edition  there  are  but  ten  of  the  essays 
and  their  order  is  not  the  same  as  in  the  later  editions. 

P2 


212       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

It  opens  with  the  fine  essay  on  *  Studies '  from  which 
the  following  are  extracts,  and  the  improvements  and 
enlargements  of  the  final  edition  of  1625  are  shown  in 
italics. 

Studies  serve  for  pastimes,  for  ornaments  and  for  abilities.  Their 
chiefe  use  for  pastime  is  in  privatenes  and  retiring ;  for  ornamente  is  in 
discourse  and  for  ability  is  in  judgement.  For  expert  men  can  execute 
and  perliaps  judge  of  particulars  one  by  one ;  but  the  generall  counsels, 
and  the  plots,  and  marshalling  of  affaires  come  best  from  those  that  are 
learned.  To  spend  too  much  time  in  Studies  is  slouth,  to  use  them  too 
much  for  ornament  is  affectation,  to  make  judgment  wholly  by  their 
rules,  is  the  humour  of  a  scholler. 

They  perfect  nature  and  are  perfected  by  experience.  For  naturall 
abilities  are  like  natural  plants,  thatnced  proyning  by  study,  and  studies 
themselves  doe  give  forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except  they  be 
bounded  in  by  experience. 

Some  bookes  are  to  bee  tasted,  others  to  bee  swallowed,  and  some  few 
to  bee  chewed  and  digested  :  that  is  some  bookes  are  to  be  read  only  in 
partes ;  others  to  be  read,  but  cursorily,  and  some  few  to  bee  read  wholly 
and  with  diligence  and  attention. 

Some  bookes  also  may  be  read  by  deputy,  and  extracts  made  of  them 
by  otliers  ;  but  tJiat  would  be  onely  in  tlie  lesse  important  arguments,  and 
the  meaner  sort  of  bookes,  else  distilled  bookes  are  like  common  distilled 
waters ;  flashy  things. 

In  the  same  volume  with  the  essays  there  were  joined 
twelve  short  Latin  pieces  of  a  religious  nature  called 
*  Meditationes  Sacrae,'  and  in  the  second  edition,  which 
came  forth  next  year,  they  were  translated  under  the 
title  of  *  Religious  Meditations.'  The  first  is  « Of  the 
works  of  God  and  man.' 

God  beheld  all  things  which  his  hands  had  made,  and  lo  they  were  all 
passing  good.  But  when  man  turned  him  about,  and  tooke  a  view  of 
the  works  which  his  hands  had  made  he  found  all  to  be  vanitie  and 
vexation  of  spirit ;  wherefore  if  thou  shalt  worke  in  the  workes  of  God 
thy  sweat  shall  bee  as  an  ointment  of  odours,  and  thy  rest  as  the  Sabbaoth 
of  God.  Thou  shalt  travaile  in  the  sweate  of  a  good  conscience  and 
shalt  keepe  holyday  in  the  quietnesse  and  libertie  of  the  sweetest  con- 


BACON  213 

templations.  But  if  thou  shalt  aspire  after  the  glorious  actes  of  men, 
thy  working  shall  bee  accompanied  with  compunction  and  strife,  and  thy 
remembrance  followed  with  distaste  and  upbraidings,  and  justly  doeth  it 
come  to  pass  towardes  thee  (0  man)  that  since  thou  which  art  Gods 
worke  doest  him  no  reason  in  yeelding  him  well  pleasing  service,  even 
thine  owne  workes  also  should  rewarde  thee  with  the  like  fruit  of  bitter- 


With  the  accession  of  James  I.  Bacon's  fortunes 
brightened.  He  was  knighted  by  the  king,  and  though 
for  a  few  years  his  advancement  was  slow  it  soon  grew 
rapid.  In  the  House  of  Commons  he  was  a  foremost 
member  and  in  conferences  with  the  Lords  or  the  king 
he  was  often  chosen  to  represent  the  House.  Ben 
Jonson's  description  of  him  as  an  orator  is  very  fine. 

There  hapn'd  in  my  time,  one  noble  speaker  who  was  full  of  gravity 
in  his  speaking.  No  man  ever  spoke  more  neatly,  more  presly,  more 
weightily,  or  suffer'd  lesse  emptinesse  lesse  idlenesse,  in  what  he  utter'd. 
His  hearers  could  not  cough,  or  looke  aside  from  him,  without  losse. 
Hee  commanded  where  hee  spoke,  and  had  his  judges  angry  and  pleased 
at  his  devotion.  No  man  had  their  affection  more  in  his  power.  The 
feare  of  every  man  that  heard  him  was  lest  hee  should  make  an  end. 

Bacon  now  hoped  to  realise  his  great  scheme  of  re-or- 
dering and  extending  the  realm  of  universal  knowledge, 
and  in  1605  he  presented  to  the  king  his  two  books  on 
'  The  Advancement  of  Learning.'  In  the  introduction 
he  pays  a  magnificent  but  extravagant  compliment  to 
the  king. 

I  have  been  touched  yea,  and  possessed  with  an  extreame  woonder  at 
those  your  vertues  and  faculties,  which  the  philosophers  call  intellectuall ; 
the  largenesse  of  your  capacitie,  the  faithfulnesse  of  your  memorie,  the 
swiftnesse  of  your  apprehension,  the  penetration  of  your  judgement,  and 
the  facilitie  and  order  of  your  elocution  ;  and  I  have  often  thought,  that 
of  all  the  persons  living  that  I  have  knowne,  your  Majestic  were  the  best 
instance  to  make  a  man  of  Platoes  opinion  that  all  knowledge  is  but 
remembrance,  and  that  the  minde  of  man  by  nature  knoweth  all  things, 


214       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  hath  but  her  owne  native  and  originall  notions  (which  by  the  strange- 
nesse  and  darkenesse  of  this  tabernacle  of  the  bodie  are  sequestered)  againe 
revived  and  restored ;  such  a  light  of  nature  I  have  observed  in  your 
Majestic,  and  such  a  readinesse  to  take  flame,  and  blaze  from  the  least 
occasion  presented  or  the  least  sparke  of  another's  knowledge  delivered. 

He  deals  in  the  course  of  the  work  with  the  objection 
urged  against  learning  and  science  that  it  is  dangerous. 

It  is  an  assured  truth  and  a  conclusion  of  experience,  that  a  little  or 
superficiall  knowledge  of  philosophic  may  encline  the  minde  of  man  to 
atheisme,  but  a  further  proceeding  therein  doth  bring  the  mind  backe 
againe  to  religion ;  for  in  the  entrance  of  philosophic  when  the  second  causes 
which  are  next  unto  the  senses,  do  offer  themselves  to  the  minde  of  man, 
if  it  dwell  and  stay  there,  it  may  induce  some  oblivion  of  the  highest  cause ; 
but  when  a  man  passeth  on  further,  and  seeth  the  dependance  of  causes, 
and  the  workes  of  providence;  then  according  to  the  allegoric  of  the 
poets,  he  will  easily  beleeve  that  the  highest  linke  of  nature's  chaine 
must  needes  be  tyed  to  the  foote  of  Jupiter's  chaire. 

He  describes  and  rejoices  in  the  Eevival  of  Learning 
of  Luther's  time,  but  regrets  the  undue  attention  that 
had  been  given  to  the  cultivation  of  mere  niceties  of 
language. 

Men  began  to  hunt  more  after  wordes  than  matter ;  and  more  after  the 
choisenesse  of  the  phrase,  and  the  round  and  cleane  composition  of  the 
sentence,  and  the  sweet  falling  of  the  clauses,  and  the  varying  and  illus- 
tration of  their  workes  with  tropes  and  figures,  than  after  the  weight  of 
matter,  worth  of  subject,  soundnesse  of  argument,  life  of  invention,  or 
depth  of  judgment. 

Then  grew  the  flowing  and  watrie  vein  of  Osorius  the  Portugall  bishop 
to  be  in  price.  Then  did  Car  of  Cambridge,  and  Ascham  with  their 
lectures  and  writings,  almost  deifie  Cicero  and  Demosthenes  and  allure 
all  young  men  that  were  studious  unto  that  delicate  and  polished  kinde 
of  learning. 

In  the  second  book  Bacon  made  a  survey  of  all  the 
provinces  of  learning,  and  in  so  masterly  a  manner  that 
the  Provost  of  King's  College  Cambridge  affirmed,  '  that 
when  he  had  read  the  book  "  Of  the  Advancement  of 


J5ACON  2is 

Learning,"  he  found  himself  in  a  case  to  begin  his  studies 
anew,  and  that  he  had  lost  all  the  time  of  his  studying 
before.' 

In  later  years  Bacon  rewrote  and  enlarged  this  work 
in  Latin,  which  he  called  the  '  universal  language,'  and 
which  he  regarded  as  nobler  and  more  certain  to  last 
than  English.  The  '  Advancement '  in  this  its  Latin 
form  as  the  '  De  Augmentis  Scientiarum  '  is  the  first 
part  of  the  '  Instauratio  Magna,'  and  the  second  part 
is  the  famous  '  Novum  Organurn,'  of  which  King  James 
said  in  jest  it  was  '  like  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth 
understanding.' 

In  1612  a  new  edition  of  the  Essays  was  published 
in  a  greatly  extended  form.  There  were  not  ten  only, 
but  thirty-eight,  and  the  additional  ones  were  in  general 
longer,  and  with  less  of  the  pointed  brevity  of  the  early 
ones. 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  essay  on  '  Marriage 
and  Single  Life.' 

He  that  hath  wife  and  children  hath  given  hostages  to  fortune; 
for  they  are  impedimentes  to  great  enterprizes  either  of  vertue  or 
of  mischief.  Certainly  the  best  workes  and  of  greatest  merit  for 
the  publique,  have  proceeded  from  the  unmarryed  or  childlesse  men 
which  have  sought  eternity  in  memory  and  not  in  posteritye,  and 
which  both  in  affeccion  and  meanes  have  marryed  and  endowed  the 
publique. 

Unmarried  men  are  best  frendes,  best  servauntes,  not  alwaies  best 
subjectes,  for  they  are  light  to  run  away  and  almost  all  fugitives  are 
of  that  condicion.  A  single  life  is  proper  for  Church  men  ;  for  Charity 
will  hardly  water  the  grounde  where  it  must  first  fill  a  poole.  For 
souldiers  I  finde  the  generalls  commonlye  in  theire  hortatives  putt  men 
in  minde  of  theire  wives  and  children,  and  I  thinke  the  despising 
of  Marriage  amongst  the  Turkes  maketh  the  vulgar  souldior  more 
base. 


2t6       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1616  Bacon  became  Lord  Chancellor,  with  the 
title  of  Baron  Verulam,  and  four  years  later  he  fell,  being 
accused  and  on  his  own  confession  convicted  of  accepting 
bribes  in  the  administration  of  justice.  Yet  it  would 
seem  that  he  had  only  followed  the  corrupt  practice  of 
that  age,  and  it  was  never  charged  against  him  that  he 
had  given  unjust  judgments.  '  I  was,'  he  says,  '  the 
justest  judge  that  was  in  England  these  fifty  years. 
But  it  was  the  justest  censure  in  Parliament  that  was 
these  two  hundred  years.' 

His  public  life  was  now  over,  and  he  could  give  him- 
self up  more  entirely  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  literary 
and  scientific  projects.  In  the  very  year  of  his  fall 
he  wrote  his  *  History  of  Henry  VII.,'  a  work  filled 
with  passages  of  grave  and  pleasant  irony,  and  show- 
ing as  might  be  expected  a  deep  insight  into  men  and 
things.  On  the  outbreak  of  the  Symnel  rebellion,  the 
Queen  Dowager  Elizabeth,  the  widow  of  Edward,  was 
forced  to  take  refuge  in  Bermondsey  Abbey,  and  her 
estates  were  seized  by  the  king.  Hereupon  Bacon  re- 
marks : 

This  lady  was  amongst  the  examples  of  great  varietie  of  fortune.  Shee 
had  first  from  a  distressed  suitor  and  desolate  widclow  beene  taken  in  mar- 
riage by  a  batchelour  king  the  goodliest  personage  of  his  time ;  and  even 
in  his  raigne  she  had  endured  a  strange  eclipse  by  the  king's  flight  and 
temporarie  depriving  from  the  crowne.  Shee  was  also  very  happie  in 
that  she  had  by  him  faire  issue  and  continued  his  nuptiall  love  to  the 
very  end.  After  her  husband's  death  she  was  matter  of  tragedie,  having 
lived  to  see  her  brother  beheaded,  and  her  two  sonnes  deposed  from  the 
crowne  and  cruelly  murthered.  All  this  while  nevertheless,  shee  enjoyed 
her  libertie  state  and  fortunes.  But  afterwards  againe  upon  the  rise  of 
the  wheele,  when  she  had  a  king  to  her  sonne  in  law  and  was  made  grand- 
mother to  a  grandchild  of  the  best  sexe ;  yet  was  she  (upon  darke  and 
unknowne  reasons,  and  no  lesse  strange  pretences)  precipitated  and 


BACON  217 

banished  the  world  into  a  nunnerie  where  it  was  almost  thought 
dangerous  to  visit  her  or  see  her ;  and  where  not  long  after  she  ended 
her  life. 

The  treatment  of  the  pretender  himself  after  the 
outbreak  was  quelled  is  thus  described  : 

For  Lambert  the  king  would  not  take  his  life,  both  out  of  magnanimitie 
taking  him  but  as  an  image  of  wax  that  others  had  tempered  and  moulded ; 
and  likewise  out  of  wisdome  thinking  that  if  he  suffered  death,  he  would 
be  forgotten  too  soone  ;  but  being  kept  alive  he  would  be  a  continuall 
spectacle,  and  a  kind  of  remedie  against  the  like  inchantments  of  people 
in  time  to  come.  For  which  cause  he  was  taken  into  service  in  his  court 
to  a  base  office  in  his  kitchin,  so  that  hee  turned  a  broach  that  had 
worne  a  crowne.  Whereas  Fortune  commonly  doth  not  bring  in  a 
comedie  or  farce  after  a  tragedy.  As  to  the  priest,  he  was  committed 
close  prisoner,  and  heard  of  no  more  ;  the  king  loving  to  seale  up  his 
owne  dangers. 

The  more  serious  rebellion  of  Perkin  Warbeck  is 
thus  introduced  : 

At  this  time  the  king  began  againe  to  be  haunted  with  sprites  by  the 
magicke  and  curious  artes  of  the  Lady  Margaret,  who  raysed  up  the  ghost 
of  Kichard  Duke  of  Yorke  second  sonne  to  King  Edward  IV  to  walke  and 
vex  the  king.  This  was  a  finer  counterfeit  stone  than  Lambert  Symnell 
better  done,  and  worne  upon  greater  hands,  beeing  graced  after  with  the 
wearing  of  a  king  of  France  and  a  king  of  Scotland,  not  of  a  Duchesse 
of  Burgundie  onely.  And  for  Simnell  there  was  not  much  in  him 
more  than  that  hee  was  a  handsome  boy  and  did  not  shame  his  robes. 
But  this  youth  was  such  a  Mercuriall  as  the  like  hath  seldome  been 
knowne,  and  could  make  his  owne  part  if  at  any  time  hee  chanced  to 
bee  out. 

In  1625  a  final  and  enlarged  edition  of  the  essays 
was  issued,  and  they  now  numbered  fifty- eight.  Some 
of  the  additional  essays  are  very  fine,  and  one  of  the 
finest  is  that  on  *  Truth,'  from  which  the  following  is 
extracted  : 

The  first  creature  of  God  in  the  workes  of  the  dayes  was  the  light  of 


218       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  sense ;  the  last  was  the  light  of  reason  ;  and  his  sabbath  worke  ever 
since  is  the  illumination  of  his  spirit.  First  he  breathed  light  upon  the 
face  of  the  matter  or  chaos ;  then  he  breathed  light  into  the  face  of  man, 
and  still  he  breatheth  and  inspireth  light  into  the  face  of  his  chosen. 
The  poet  that  beautified  the  sect  that  was  otherwise  inferiour  to  the  rest, 
saith  yet  excellently  well ;  It  is  a  pleasure  to  stand  upon  the  sJiore  and 
to  see  ships  tost  upon  the  sea ;  a  pleasure  to  stand  in  the  window  of 
a  castle  and  to  see  a  battaile  and  the  adventures  tliereof  below.  But  no 
pleasure  is  comparable  to  the  standing  upon  tJic  vantage  ground  of 
truth,  (a  hill  not  to  be  commanded  and  where  the  ayre  is  alwaies  cleare 
and  serene)  and  to  see  the  errours  and  ivandrings  and  mists  and  tempests 
in  the  vale  below.  So  alwaies  that  this  prospect  be  with  pitty  and  not 
with  swelling  or  pride.  Certainly  it  is  heaven  upon  earth  to  have  a 
mans  mind  move  in  Charity,  rest  in  providence  and  turn  upon  the  poles 
of  truth. 

In  April  of  the  next  year,  1626,  Bacon  died  in 
Lord  Arundel's  house  in  Highgate  from  the  effect  of  a 
cold  caught  while  questioning  nature  according  to  his 
wont  and  testing  the  power  of  snow  to  arrest  putrefac- 
tion in  meat.  He  was  turned  sixty-five,  but  he  was 
still  strong  and  healthy,  and  looked  forward  to  some 
years  of  life  to  complete  the  great  design  which  he  had 
sketched. 

Old  Aubrey  in  his  gossiping  account  of  Bacon  says 
1  His  Lordship  was  a  good  poet,'  but  the  only  poem  of 
his  which  we  possess  is  one  of  four  verses,  of  which  the 
first  runs  thus : 

The  world's  a  bubble,  and  the  life  of  man 

lesse  than  a  span, 
In  his  conception  wretched,  from  the  wonabe, 

so  to  the  tombe  ; 
Curst  from  the  cradle,  and  brought  up  to  yeares, 

with  cares  and  feares. 
Who  then  to  fraile  mortality  shall  trust, 
But  limmes  the  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust. 


BEN  JON  SON  219 

Aubrey  also  gives  the  following  personal  character- 
istics of  Bacon  which  are  interesting  : 

His  Lordship  would  many  times  have  music  in  the  next  roome  where 
he  meditated.  Every  meale,  according  to  the  season  of  the  yeare,  he 
had  his  table  strewed  with  sweet  herbes  and  flowers,  which  he  sayd  did 
refresh  his  spirits  and  memorie.  He  would  often  drinke  a  good  draught 
of  strong  beer  to-bed-wards,  to  lay  his  working  fancy  asleep  ;  which 
otherwise  would  keepe  him  from  sleeping  great  part  of  the  night.  He 
had  a  delicate,  lively  hazel  eie ;  Dr.  Harvey  told  me  it  was  like  the  eie 
of  a  viper. 


BEN  JONSON. 

BEN  JONSON  was  born  in  1573,  and  was  therefore  nine 
years  younger  than  Shakspere,  to  whom  he  stood  nearest 
of  all  his  fellows  in  poetical  genius,  though  still  so  unlike 
him  and  so  inferior. 

He  was  born  in  London,  but  his  father  and  grand- 
father were  men  of  Annandale,  the  region  which  Thomas 
Carlyle's  name  has  ennobled.  The  little  Benjamin  was 
sent  to  Westminster  School,  where  Camden,  the  famous 
antiquary,  was  one  of  the  masters,  and  the  poet  gratefully 
makes  mention  of  him — 

Camden  !  most  reverend  head,  to  whom  I  owe 
All  that  I  am  in  arts,  all  that  I  know ; 

and  this  is  no  slight  praise,  for  not  more  than  one  or  two 
English  poets  have  been  equally  learned  with  Jonson,  or 
have  made  equally  good  use  of  their  learning. 

From  school  he  went,  as  some  think,  to  Cambridge 
for  a  short  time ;  but  this  is  very  doubtful.  Others  think 
that  he  helped  his  stepfather  (Ben's  own  father  died  a 


220       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

month  before  the  boy  was  born),  who  was  a  bricklayer  or 
builder  living  in  St.  Martin's  Lane.  But  it  is  certain 
that  he  soon  afterwards  enlisted  as  a  soldier  and  went 
to  the  wars  in  the  Netherlands,  and  in  after  years  he 
boasted  of  the  deeds  of  valour  he  performed  there. 

At  the  age  of  nineteen  or  twenty  he  was  again  in 
London,  and  married,  and,  like  Shakspere,  he  became 
an  actor,  and  a  writer  of  plays,  or  perhaps  at  first 
only  a  mender  of  old  plays.  His  chief  paymaster  was 
Henslowe,  who,  with  Edward  Alleyn,  was  proprietor  of 
the  '  Fortune,'  the  *  Kose,'  and  other  theatres. 

In  1598  Jonson  quarrelled  with  a  fellow-actor  and 
killed  him  in  a  duel  in  Hoxton  Fields,  and  narrowly 
escaped  hanging  in  consequence.  Henslowe  in  anger 
cast  him  off,  but  he  was  kindly  received  by  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  men,  and  his  first  great  play,  '  Every  Man 
in  His  Humour,'  was  brought  out  at  the  '  Blackfriars '  or 
the  '  Globe,'  and  Shakspere  himself  was  one  of  the 
actors. 

This  incident  affords  a  pleasing  example  of  Shak- 
spere's  genial  and  generous  nature,  for  the  plan  of  the 
new  play  was  not  such  as  he  could  himself  approve. 
The  romantic  drama,  with  its  disregard  of  the  unities, 
with  its  rapid  transitions  to  distant  times  and  places,  was 
condemned  by  Jonson,  and  in  each  of  his  chief  plays 
the  time  of  the  action  is  limited  to  a  few  hours,  and  there 
is  but  slight  change  of  scene. 

In  the  prologue  to  '  Every  Man  in  His  Humour  ' 
Jonson  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that  his  own  plan  is  the 
best.  He  will  not,  even  to  gain  the  applause  of  the 
audience, 


BEN  JONS  ON  221 

Make  a  child,  now  swadled,  to  proceede 
Man,  and  then  shoote  up,  in  one  beard,  and  weede 
Past  three-score  yeeres  :  or,  with  three  rustie  swords, 
And  helpe  of  some  few  foot-and-halfe  foote  words 
Fight  over  Yorke  and  Lancasters  long  jarres ; 
And  in  the  tyring-house  bring  wounds  to  scarres. 
He  rather  prayes  you  will  be  pleased  to  see 
One  such,  to-day,  as  other  playes  should  be. 
Where  neither  chorus  waftes  you  ore  the  seas ; 
Nor  creaking  throne  comes  downe,  the  boyes  to  pleasa ; 
Nor  nimble  squibbe  is  scene,  to  make  afear'd 
The  gentlewomen  ;  nor  roul'd  bullet  heard 
To  say  it  thunders  ;  nor  tempestuous  drumme 
Rumbles,  to  tell  you  when  the  storme  doth  come ; 
But  deedes,  and  language,  such  as  men  doe  use  ; 
And  persons,  such  as  Comcedie  would  chuse, 
When  she  would  shew  an  image  of  the  times, 
And  sport  with  humane  follies,  not  with  crimes. 

The  characters  in  the  play  are  well  drawn,  and  to- 
gether they  form  a  very  amusing  company.  There  is 
Edward  Knowell  the  elder,  a  grave  and  worthy  gentle- 
man living  at  Hoxton,  busied  in  gardening,  and  proud  of 
his  apricots,  but  feeling  over-anxious  about  his  son,  the 
young  Edward,  who,  with  Wellbred,  another  wild  youth, 
is  too  fond  of  a  frolic  in  the  taverns  of  the  Old  Jewry. 

Then  there  is  Master  Stephen,  a  country  gull  or  sim- 
pleton, a  cousin  of  Knowell's,  who  is  taken  to  task  by  the 
old  gentleman  for  his  foolish  behaviour :  '  What  would 
you  ha'  me  do  ? '  says  poor  empty-headed  Stephen — 

What  would  I  have  you  doe  ?     I'll  tell  you,  kinsman  : 
Learne  to  be  wise,  and  practise  how  to  thrive, 
That  would  I  have  you  doe ;  and  not  to  spend 
Your  coyne  on  every  bable,  that  you  phansie, 
Or  every  foolish  braine,  that  humors  you. 
I  would  not  have  you  to  invade  each  place, 
Nor  thrust  yourselfe  on  all  societies, 


222       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Till  men's  affections,  or  your  owne  desert, 

Should  worthily  invite  you  to  youre  ranke. 

Nor  would  I,  you  should  melt  away  your  selfe 

In  flashing  brav'rie,  least  while  you  affect 

To  make  a  blaze  of  gentrie  to  the  world, 

A  little  puffe  of  scorne  extinguish  it, 

And  you  be  left,  like  an  unsav'rie  snuffe, 

Whose  propertie  is  only  to  offend. 

Nor  stand  so  much  on  your  gentilitie, 

Which  is  an  aerie,  and  meere  borrow'd  thing 

From  dead  men's  dust  and  bones,  and  none  of  yours 

Except  you  make  or  hold  it. 

The  most  amusing  character  in  the  play  is  Captain 
Bobadill,  a  needy  braggart  whose  mouth  is  full  of  strange 
oaths—'  By  the  foot  of  Pharaoh  ! '  and  the  like — and  who 
is  greatly  admired  by  Master  Stephen,  the  country  gull, 
and  by  Master  Matthew,  the  town  gull.  Master  Matthew 
seeks  out  the  Captain  in  his  dingy  lodging,  and  after 
some  talk  the  hero  says : 

Come  put  on  your  cloke,  and  wee'll  goe  to  some  private  place,  where 
you  are  acquainted — some  taverne  or  so — and  have  a  bit.  What  money 
ha'  you  about  you,  Master  Matthew  ? 

Matt.    Faith  I  ha'  not  past  a  two  shillings,  or  so. 

Bob.  'Tis  somewhat  with  the  least ;  but,  come.  We  will  have  a 
bunch  of  redish,  and  salt  to  tast  our  wine ;  and  a  pipe  of  tabacco  to  close 
the  orifice  of  the  stomach. 

Then  when  they  have  reached  the  *  Wind-mill '  tavern, 
and  his  heart  is  warmed  with  wine,  his  bragging  is 
wonderful — 

O  Lord,  sir,  by  St.  George,  I  was  the  first  man  that  entred  the 
breach :  and  had  I  not  effected  it  with  resolution,  I  had  beene  slaine  if 
I  had  had  a  million  of  lives.  They  had  planted  mee  three  demi-cul- 
verings  just  in  the  mouth  of  the  breach  ;  now,  sir  (as  wee  were  to  goe 
on),  their  master  gunner  (a  man  of  no  meane  skille  and  marke,  you  must 
think)  confronts  mee  with  his  linstock,  readie  to  give  fire :  I  spying  his 
intendinent,  discharg'd  my  petrionel  in  his  bosome,  and  with  these 


BEN  JONSON  223 

single  armes,  my  poore  rapier,  ranne  violently  upon  the  Moores  that 
guarded  the  ordnance,  and  put  'hem  pell-mell  to  the  sword. 

Bobadill  is  a  great  consumer  of  tobacco. 

Body  o'  me !  here's  the  remainder  of  seven  pounds  since  yesterday 
was  seven  night.  'Tis  your  right  Trinidado  :  did  you  never  take  any, 
Master  Stephen  ? 

Stephen.  No,  truly,  sir ;  but  I'le  learne  to  take  it  now,  since  you 
commend  it  so. 

Bobadill.  Sir,  beleeve  mee,  upon  my  relation  for  what  I  tell  you, 
the  world  shal  not  reprove.  I  have  been  in  the  Indies  where  this  herb 
growes,  where  neither  myselfe,  nor  a  dozen  gentlemen  more  (of  my 
knowledge),  have  received  the  tast  of  any  other  nutriment  in  the  world, 
for  the  space  of  one  and  twentie  weekes  but  the  fume  of  this  simple  onely ; 
therefore,  it  cannot  be,  but  'tis  most  divine. 

Later  in  the  play,  while  walking  through  the  Moor- 
fields,  the  Captain  boasts  of  his  skill  in  fencing,  and  of 
the  fierce  envy  and  hatred  which  he  has  excited  in  the 
breasts  of  less  skilful  swordsmen — 

They  have  assaulted  me  some  three,  foure,  five,  six  of  them  together, 
as  I  have  walkt  alone  in  divers  skirts  i'  the  towne  as  Turnebull,  White- 
cJiapell,  SJwreditch,  which  were  then  my  quarters ;  and  since,  upon  the 
Exchange,  at  my  lodging,  and  at  my  ordinarie ;  where  I  have  driven 
them  afore  me  the  whole  length  of  a  street,  in  the  open  view  of  all  our 
gallants,  pitying  to  hurt  them,  beleeve  me. 

Then  he  explains  how  he  might  serve  the  nation  if 
only  the  Queen  knew  his  worth — 

Were  I  knowne  to  her  Majestic  and  the  Lords — observe  me — I  would 
undertake,  upon  this  poore  head  and  life,  for  the  publique  benefit  of  the 
State,  not  only  to  spare  the  intire  lives  of  her  subjects  in  generall,  but  to 
save  the  one  halfe,  nay,  three  parts  of  her  yeerely  charge  in  holding 
warre,  and  against  what  enemie  soever.  And  how  would  I  doe  it,  think 
you? 

Knowell.    Nay,  I  know  not,  nor  can  I  conceive. 

Bobadill.  Why  thus,  sir.  I  would  select  nineteene  more  to  myselfe, 
throughout  the  land ;  gentlemen  they  should  bee  of  good  spirit,  strong 
and  able  constitution  ;  I  would  choose  them  by  an  instinct,  a  character 


224       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

that  I' have ;  and  I  would  teach  these  nineteen  the  speciall  rules,  as  your 
Punto,  your  Reverse,  your  Staccato,  your  Imbriccato,  your  Passada,  your 
Montanto ;  till  they  could  all  play  very  neare,  or  altogether  as  well  as 
rayselfe.  This  done,  say  the  enemie  were  fortie  thousand  strong,  we 
twentie  would  come  into  the  field  the  tenth  of  March  or  thereabouts  ; 
and  wee  would  chalenge  twentie  of  the  enemie  ;  they  could  not  in  their 
honour  refuse  us  :  Well  we  would  kill  them ;  challenge  twentie  more, 
kill  them  ;  twentie  more,  kill  them  too ;  and  thus  would  we  kill  every 
man  his  twentie  a  day,  that's  twentie  score ;  twentie  score,  that's  two 
hundreth  ;  two  hundreth  a  day,  five  dayes  a  thousand  ;  fortie  thousand; 
fortie  times  five,  five  times  fortie,  two  hundreth  dayes  kills  them  all  up 
by  computation. 

f> 

Just  in  the  nick  of  time,  while  Bobadill  is  bragging 
so  gloriously,  there  comes  upon  the  scene  Squire  Down- 
right, whom  the  Captain  has  insulted  earlier  in  the  day, 
and  who  now  drubs  him  soundly.  After  Downright  has 
gone  Bobadill  murmurs  disconsolately  : 

I  never  sustained  the  like  disgrace,  by  heaven  !  sure  I  was  strooke 
with  a  planet,  for  I  had  no  power  to  touch  my  weapon. 

In  '  Every  Man   in   His   Humour,'  as   in   most  of 
Jonson's  other  plays,  the  characters   are   intended  to 
exemplify  some  one  peculiarity  or  humour  which  by  its 
excess  becomes  a  vice- 
When  some  one  peculiar  quality 
Doth  so  possesse  a  man,  that  it  doth  draw 
All  his  affects,  his  spirits,  and  his  powers, 
In  their  confluctions,  all  to  runne  one  way, 
This  may  be  truly  said  to  be  a  Humour.1 

And  the  poet  felt  it  to  be  his  mission  to  chastise  these 
pestilent  humours — 

My  strict  hand 

Was  made  to  ceaze  on  vice,  and  with  a  gripe 
Squeeze  out  the  humour  of  such  spongie  souls 
As  licke  up  every  idle  vanitie.1 

1  Prologue  to  Every  Man  out  of  His  Humour. 


BEN  JONSON  22$ 

Between  1598  and  1614  Jonson  wrote  a  series  of  nine 
or  ten  plays,  and  four  of  these — '  The  Alchemist,'  *  Volpone, 
or  The  Fox,'  <  The  Silent  Woman,'  and  '  Bartholomew 
Fair  ' — are  justly  regarded  as  masterpieces.  The  '  Al- 
chemist '  is  a  powerfully  drawn  picture  of  roguery  and 
folly  as  they  existed  in  the  London  of  Elizabeth's  time. 
Two  cunning  rascals,  Subtle  and  Face,  one  in  the  cha- 
racter of  a  magician  or  astrologer,  the  other  in  that  of  a 
fine  gentleman,  delude  and  fleece  a  number  of  dupes.  A 
third  companion,  Dol  Common,  appears  as  a  fine  lady,  or 
as  the  Queen  of  Fairies,  or  in  some  such  disguise.  The 
play  opens  with  these  confederates  quarrelling  fiercely 
with  each  other  and  making  use  of  the  foulest  terms  of 
abuse,  but  they  are  at  peace  before  the  dupes  appear. 

The  first  of  these  is  a  lawyer's  clerk,  who  is 

The  heire  to  fortie  markes  a  yeere, 
Consorts  with  the  small  poets  of  the  time, 
Is  the  sole  hope  of  his  old  grandmother ; 
That  knowes  the  law,  and  writes  you  sixe  faire  hands, 
Is  a  fine  clarke,  and  has  his  cyphring  perfect, 
Will  take  his  oath  o'  the  Greek  Xenophon, 
If  need  be,  in  his  pocket. 

He  wishes  to  receive  a  charm  to  aid  him  in  gambling, 
and  they  persuade  him  (after  taking  from  him  five  angels 
—all  the  money  he  has)  that  the  Queen  of  Fairies  is  his 
aunt,  that  she  kissed  him  in  his  cradle,  and  that  after 
certain  solemn  ceremonies  she  will  appear  to  him— 

Sir,  against  one  o'clock  prepare  yourselfe  ; 
Till  when  you  must  be  fasting,  onely  take 
Three  drops  of  vinegar  in  at  your  nose, 
Two  at  your  mouth,  and  one  at  either  eare  ; 
Then  bath  your  finger  endes  and  wash  your  eyes, 
To  sharpen  your  five  senses,  and  cry  hum 
Thrise,  and  then  buz  as  often ;  and  then  come. 


226       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  next  dupe  to  appear  is  Abel  Drugger,  a  tobacco- 
seller — 

An't  please  your  worship  ; 
I  am  a  yong  beginner,  and  am  building 
Of  a  new  shop,  an't  please  your  worship,  just 
At  corner  of  a  street : — Here  is  the  plot  on't — 
And  I  would  know  by  art,  sir,  of  your  worship, 
Which  way  I  should  make  my  dore,  by  necromantic, 
And  where  my  shelves  ;  and  which  should  be  for  boxes, 
And  which  for  pots.     I  would  be  glad  to  thrive,  sir. 

And  he  speedily  receives  the  desired  directions — 

Make  me  your  dore,  then,  south ;  your  broad  side,  west; 
And  on  the  east  side  of  your  shop  aloft, 
Write  Mathlai,  Tarmiel,  and  Barborat ; 
Upon  the  north  part,  Rael,  Velel,  Thiel 
They  are  the  names  of  those  Mercurial  spirits, 
That  do  fright  flyes  from  boxes.    And 
Beneath  your  threshold,  bury  me  a  loadstone 
To  draw  in  gallants  that  weare  spurres. 

But  now  a  grander  prize  comes  in  sight,  Sir  Epicure 
Mammon,  who  has  given   great   supplies  of  money  to 
Subtle,  and  who  is  to  receive  this  very  day  the  philo- 
sopher's stone  which  will  turn  all  baser  metals  to  gold. 
He  approaches  with  a  companion,  and  is  eagerly  explain- 
ing to  him  his  good- fortune- 
Come  on,  sir.     Now,  you  set  your  foot  on  shore 
In  Novo  Orbe ;  here's  the  rich  Peru  : 
And  there  within,  sir,  are  the  golden  mines, 
Great  Salomon's  Ophir  !  he  was  sayling  to  't 
Three  yeeres,  but  we  have  reached  it  in  ten  months} 
This  is  the  day,  wherein,  to  all  my  friends, 
I  will  pronounce  the  happy  words  Be  rich. 

This  night  I'll  change 
All  that  is  mettall,  in  my  house,  to  gold  : 
And  early  in  the  morning,  will  I  send 


BEN  JONSON  227 

To  all  the  plumbers  and  the  pewterers, 

And  buy  their  tin  and  lead  up ;  and  to  Lothbury 

For  all  the  copper. 

His  imagination  revels  in  the  luxury  which  he 
intends  to  enjoy — 

My  meat  shall  all  come  in,  in  Indian  shells, 

Dishes  of  agat  set  in  gold,  and  studded 

With  emeralds,  sapphires,  hyacinths,  and  rubies. 

The  tongues  of  carps,  dormice  and  camel's  heeles, 

Boil'd  in  the  spirit  of  sol,  and  dissolved  pearle, 

Apicius'  diet,  'gainst  the  epilepsie ; 

And  I  will  eat  these  breathes  with  spoones  of  amber, 

Headed  with  diamant  and  carbuncle. 

'  Bartholomew  Fair  '  is  a  lively  picture  of  the  hurly- 
burly  and  rough,  roaring  merriment  of  a  fair.  But  the 
play  is  chiefly  interesting  for  the  amusing  but  over- 
drawn sketch  of  Zeal-of-the-land  Busy,  the  Puritan 
preacher,  who  is  represented  as  one  so  fond  of  feasting 
that  '  he  breaks  his  buttons  and  cracks  seams  at  every 
saying  he  sobs  out,'  and  he  is 

found  fast  by  the  teeth  in  the  cold  turkey-pie  in  the  cupboard  with  a 
great  white  loaf  on  his  left  hand,  and  a  glass  of  malmsey  on  his  right. 

This  worthy  is  called  upon  to  decide  if  it  is  lawful  to 
eat  roast  pig  in  Bartholomew  Fair,  for  young  Mrs.  Little- 
wit  has  a  great  longing  for  that  pleasure,  and  her  anxious 
mother  fears  to  cross  her  inclination.  Zeal-of-the-land 
decides  that  this  may  be  done  without  sin,  and  he 
determines  to  accompany  them — 

In  the  way  of  comfort  to  the  weake,  I  will  go  and  eat.  I  will  eate 
exceedingly  and  prophesie ;  there  may  be  a  good  use  made  of  it  too,  now 
I  thinke  on't :  by  the  publike  eating  of  Swine's  flesh,  to  professe  our  hate 
and  loathing  of  Judaisme  whereof  the  brethren  stand  taxed.  I  will 
therefore  eat,  yea,  I  will  eate  exceedingly. 

Q2 


228      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

When  he  has  eaten  and  drunk  his  fill  in  the  fair  he 
is  ready  to  prophesy,  and  he  lifts  up  his  voice  against  a 
seller  of  toys- 
Peace,  with  thy  Apocryphall  wares,  thou  prophane  Publican ;  thy 
Bells,  thy  Dragons,  and  thy  Tobie's  Dogges.  Thy  Hobby  horse  is  an 
Idoll,  a  very  Idoll,  a  fierce  and  rancke  Idoll ;  and  thou  the  Nabuchad- 
nezzar,  the  proud  Nabuchadnezzar  of  the  Faire,  that  sett'st  it  up,  for 
children  to  fall  downe  to,  and  worship.  I  was  moved  in  spirit  to  bee 
here  this  day,  in  this  Faire,  this  wicked  and  foule  Faire ;  and  fitter  maj 
it  be  called  a  Foule  then  a  Faire ;  to  protest  against  the  abuses  of  it,  th« 
foule  abuses  of  it,  in  regard  of  the  afflicted  Saintes,  that  are  troubled, 
very  much  troubled,  exceedingly  troubled,  with  the  opening  of  the  mer- 
chandise of  Babylon  againe,  and  the  peeping  of  Popery  upon  the  stalls 
here,  here,  in  the  high  places.  See  you  not  Goldylocks,  the  purple 
strumpet  there  in  her  yellow  gowne  and  greene  sleeves  ?  the  prophane 
pipes,  the  tinkling  timbrels  ?  a  shop  of  reliques  ?  And  this  Idolatrous 
Grove  of  Images,  this  flasket  of  Idols  which  I  will  pull  downe.  (Over 
throws  the  gingerbread  basket.) 

Even  after  he  is  safely  secured  in  the  stocks  he 
continues  to  prophesy— 

I  am  one  that  rejoiceth  in  his  affliction  and  sitteth  here  to  prophesie 
the  destruction  of  Faires  and  May  games,  Wakes  and  Wiitsun  ales,  and 
doth  sigh  and  groane  for  the  reformation  of  these  abuses. 

'  Bartholomew  Fair '  was  brought  out  in  1614,  and 
during  the  remaining  twenty-three  years  of  his  life 
Jon  son  produced  no  other  great  play.  Some  six  or 
eight  more  were  written,  but  they  show  declining  powers, 
and  one  of  them,  *  The  New  Inn,'  was  so  ill  received 
that  the  poet  relieved  his  feelings  in  an  indignant  ode 
addressed  to  himself— 

Come  leave  the  loathed  stage, 
And  the  more  loathsome  age  ; 
Where  pride  and  impudence  in  faction  knit. 
Usurp  the  chair  of  wit  I 


BEN  JONSON  229 

Indicting  and  arraigning  every  day, 

Something  they  call  a  play. 

Let  their  fastidious,  vain 

Commission  of  the  brain 

Bun  on  and  rage,  sweat,  censure  and  condemn ; 
They  were  not  made  for  thee,  less  thou  for  them. 

Say  that  thou  pour'st  them  wheat, 

And  they  will  acorns  eat; 
'Twere  simple  fury  still  thyself  to  waste 

On  such  as  have  no  taste  ! 
To  offer  them  a  surfeit  of  pure  bread, 

Whose  appetites  are  dead  ! 

No,  give  them  grains  their  fill, 

Husks,  draff  to  drink  and  swill ; 
'  If  they  love  lees,  and  leave  the  lusty  wine, 
Envy  them  not,  their  palate's  with  the  swine. 

During  all  these  years  Jonson  also  wrote  a  number 
of  masques  for  Court  festivals.  This  species  of  enter- 
tainment was  brought  from  Italy  in  King  Henry's  time, 
but  King  James  took  special  delight  in  them,  and  large 
sums  of  money  were  lavished  in  providing  the  magni- 
ficent dresses  and  decorations,  and  the  King  and  Queen, 
the  princes  and  the  great  nobles  took  part  in  the  stately 
dances  and  in  the  simple  action  of  the  drama. 

These  masques  of  Jonson's  are  now  rather  weari- 
some reading,  but  they  contain  many  bright  sparkling 
songs.  The  following  verses  are  part  of  a  description  of 
Cupid : 

He  doth  beare  a  golden  Bow, 
And  a  Quiver,  hanging  low, 
Full  of  Arrows,  that  outbrave 
Dian's  shafts ;  where,  if  he  have 
Any  head  more  sharp  than  other 
With  that  first  he  strikes  his  mother. 

Trust  him  not ;  his  words,  though  sweet, 
Seldom  with  his  heart  do  meet ; 


230      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

All  his  practice  is  deceit ; 
Every  gift  it  is  a  bait ; 
Not  a  kisse  but  poyson  beares  ; 
And  most  treason  in  his  teares. 

While  Jonson  provided  the  literary  part  of  the 
masques,  the  scenery  and  the  mechanical  devices  were 
the  work  of  the  architect  Inigo  Jones,  and  there  was 
the  bitterest  rivalry  between  the  two  artists — Jonson  told 
Prince  Charles  '  that  when  he  wanted  words  to  express 
the  greatest  villain  in  the  world  he  would  call  him  an 
Inigo.' 

In  the  summer  of  1618  Jonson  undertook  a  journey 
on  foot  to  Scotland,  and  returned  the  next  year.  He 
purposed  writing  an  account  of  his  journey,  but  he  did 
not  do  so,  and  the  only  memorial  we  have  of  the  visit  is 
a  meagre  account  of  his  conversations  with  Sir  William 
Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  at  whose  house  near  Edin- 
burgh he  stayed  for  a  little  while. 

In  1628  the  folio  edition  of  Shakspere's  plays  was 
published,  and  prefixed  to  it  there  is  Jonson's  noble 
tribute  of  praise — 

Soute  of  the  Age ! 

The  applause  1  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  Stage  1 
My  Shakespeare,  rise ;  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lye 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  a  roome  ; 
Thou  art  a  Moniment  without  a  tombe, 
And  art  alive  still  while  thy  Booke  doth  live, 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 
He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  ! 
And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 
When  like  Apollo  he  came  forth  to  warme 
Our  eares,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charme  ! 
Nature  her  selfe  was  proud  of  her  designes, 
And  joyed  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines  1 


BEN  JO  MS  ON  231 

Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit 
As,  since,  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

During  the  greater  part  of  his  life  Jonson  lived  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  the  noblest  and  best  in  the  land. 
King  James  and  King  Charles  gave  him  special  marks  of 
their  favour ;  Shakspere,  Bacon,  Selden,  Camden,  and 
others  like  them  were  his  friends.  At  Penshurst  he 
appears  to  have  been  a  welcome  guest,  and  Lord  Pem- 
broke, we  are  told,  sent  him  every  New  Year's  Day  20£ 
to  buy  books. 

In  the  London  taverns,  which  were  then  the  gathering- 
places  of  the  poets  and  wits,  he  reigned  supreme.  The 
poet  Herrick,  who  was  one  of  his  admirers,  celebrates 
these  meetings  thus : 

Ah,  Ben, 
Say  how  or  when 

Shall  we  thy  guests 
Meet  at  those  lyrick  feasts 

Made  at  the  Sun, 
The  Dog,  the  Triple  Tunne  ? 

Where  we  such  clusters  had 
As  made  us  nobly  wild,  not  mad  ; 

And  yet  each  verse  of  thine 
Outdid  the  meate,  outdid  the  frolick  wine. 

The  poet  Beaumont  also  finely  describes  these 
gatherings — 

What  things  have  we  seen 

Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life. 


232       HANDBOOK  OF  EXdl.lSH  LITERATURE 

But  Jonson's  life  was  a  careless  and  reckless  one,  and 
from  time  to  time  he  was  in  want.  All  his  life,  too,  in 
spite  of  his  sturdy  build,  he  was  unhealthy,  and  in  his 
later  years  he  grew  to  an  enormous  bulk.  He  was 
troubled,  too,  with  strange  fancies.  He  told  Drummond 
of  Hawthornden  that  he  had  *  consumed  a  whole  night  in 
lying  looking  to  his  great  toe,  about  which  he  had  seen 
Tartars  and  Turks,  Eomans  and  Carthaginians  fight  in 
his  imagination.'  Towards  the  end  of  his  life  he  was 
afflicted  with  palsy  and  dropsy,  and  he  died  in  1637. 

A  small  part  only  of  Jonson's  work  deserves  to  live 
with  Shakspere's.  Even  his  most  elaborate  and  power- 
fully drawn  characters,  such  as  Sir  Epicure  Mammon  or 
Volpone,  appear  unreal  and  superficial  when  compared 
with  Shakspere's  lifelike  pictures.  Jonson  hampered 
himself  by  his  strict  adherence  to  the  unities,  and  thus 
prevented  himself  from  tracing  the  growth  and  develop- 
ment of  a  passion,  as  we  see  it  in  Macbeth,  or  Lear, 
or  Othello.  It  is  noticeable  also  that  he  has  scarcely 
one  well-drawn  female  figure,  nothing  to  place  near 
Desdemona,  or  Imogen,  or  Miranda.  He  has  *  no  pas- 
sion, no  rapture,'  says  one  critic,  and  this  is  surely  a 
great  want  in  a  poet. 

A  few  of  Jonson's  lyric  poems  are  excellent,  and  will 
perhaps  be  best  remembered  of  all  his  works.  Such  is 
the  following  song  from  '  Cynthia's  Bevels  ' : 

Queene  and  huntresse  chaste  and  faire, 

Now  the  Sunrie  is  laid  to  sleepe, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chaire, 

State  in  wonted  manner  keepe, 
Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 
Goddesse,  excellently  bright. 


BEN  JONSON  233 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearle  apart 

And  thy  crystall  shining  quiver  ; 
Give  unto  the  flying  Hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever : 
Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night, 
Goddesse  excellently  bright. 

Such  also  is  the  little  song  in  '  The  Silent  Woman  ' — 

Give  me  a  look,  give  me  a  face 

That  makes  simplicity  a  grace  ; 

Kobes  loosely  flowing,  hayre  as  free  : 

Such  sweet  neglect  more  taketh  me, 

Than  all  the  adulteries  of  Art; 

They  strike  mine  eyes,  but  not  my  heart. 

His  epitaph  on  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  is  thought 
to  be  one  of  the  finest  ever  written. 

Underneath  this  sable  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother : 
Death  !  ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Learned,  and  fair,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 


THE   MINOR   DRAMATISTS  OF   SHAKSPERE'S'  AGE. 

'The  whole  period  from  the  middle  of  Elizabeth's 
reign  to  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  comprises  a 
space  of  little  more  than  half  a  century,  within  which 
time  nearly  all  that  we  have  of  excellence  in  serious 
dramatic  composition  was  produced,  if  we  except  the 
"  Samson  Agonistes  "  of  Milton.'  l 

In  this  period  Shakspere  and  Jonson  by  their  pecu- 
liar excellences  stand  alone ;  but  there  is  a  crowd  of  other 

1  Charles  Lamb. 


234       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

writers  whose  works  show  wonderful  power  and  beauty, 
and  some  account  must  be  given  of  a  few  of  these. 

Thomas  Dekker  was  born  in  1570,  and  died  about 
1637,  and  during  this  time  he  wrote  many  plays,  of 
which  '  Old  Fortunatus  '  is  perhaps  the  best.  His  name 
often  occurs  in  *  Henslowe's  Diary,'  and  from  it  we  learn 
that  he  was  more  than  once  in  prison,  and  his  life  was 
probably  an  alternation  of  want  and  merriment.  In 
1631  he  plaintively  says :  *  I  have  been  a  priest  in 
Apollo's  Temple  many  years,  my  voice  is  decaying  with 
my  age,  yet  yours,  being  clear  and  above  mine,  shall 
much  honour  me,  if  you  but  listen  to  my  old  tunes.' 

Dekker's  '  Shoemaker's  Holiday '  is  a  very  pleasant 
picture  of  London  life,  in  which  is  portrayed  the  brave 
Simon  Eyre,  the  shoemaker  who  entertained  the  king, 
and  built  Leadenhall,  and  finally  became  Lord  Mayor  of 
London.  Dekker  also  wrote  plays  in  conjunction  with 
other  authors.  Some  of  the  best  parts  of  Massinger's 
*  Virgin  Martyr'  are  his,  and  he  sketched  the  female 
characters  of  Wenifrede  and  Susan  in  Ford's  *  Witch  of 
Edmonton.'  Charles  Lamb  says  of  Dekker,  with  rather 
reckless  praise,  that  *  he  had  poetry  enough  for  any- 
thing.' 

In  the  story  of  '  Old  Fortunatus  '  with  the  purse  and 
wishing-cap,  Dekker's  poetical  powers  are  shown  at  their 
best.  Fortunatus  falls  asleep  in  a  wood  in  Cyprus,  and 
on  awaking  he  sees  Fortune,  who  bids  him  make  choice 
of  '  wisedome,  strength,  health,  beautie,  long  life,  or 
riches  ' — 

Staie,  Fortunatus,  once  more  heare  me  speake ; 

If  thou  kisse  Wisedome 's  cheeke  and  make  her  thine, 


THOMAS  DEKKER  235 

She'lle  breath  into  thy  lips  divinitie, 

And  thou  like  Phebus  shalt  speake  oracle, 

Thy  Heaven-inspired  soule,  on  Wisedome's  wings. 

Shall  flie  up  to  the  Parliament  of  Jove, 

And  read  the  statutes  of  eternitie, 

And  see  what's  past  and  learne  what  is  to  come. 

If  thou  lay  claime  to  strength,  armies  shall  quake 

To  see  thee  frowne :  as  kings  at  mine  do  lie, 

So  shall  thy  feete  trample  on  emperie. 

Make  health  thine  object,  thou  shalt  be  strong  proof e 

'Gainst  the  deepe  searching  darts  of  surfeiting, 

Be  ever  merrie,  ever  revelling. 

Wish  but  for  beautie,  and  within  thine  eyes 

Two  naked  Cupids  amorously  shall  swim, 

And  on  thy  cheekes  I'll  mixe  such  white  and  red 

That  Jove  shall  turne  away  young  Ganimede, 

And  with  immortall  arms  shall  circle  thee. 

Are  thy  desires  long  life  ?  thy  vitall  thread 

Shall  be  stretcht  out,  thou  shalt  behold  the  chaunge 

Of  monarchies,  and  see  those  children  die, 

Whose  great  great  graundsiree  now  in  cradles  lie. 

If  through  goldes  sacred  hunger  thou  dost  pine, 

Those  gilded  wantons  which  in  swarmes  doe  runne 

To  warm  their  tender  bodies  in  the  sunne 

Shall  stand  for  number  of  those  golden  piles, 

Which  in  rich  pride  shall  swell  before  thy  feete, 

As  those  are,  so  shall  these  be  infinite. 

The  old  man  chooses  wealth,  and,  returning  home,  delights 
his  two  sons  with  the  news— 

Goe  lads,  be  gallant ; 

Shine  in  the  streetes  of  Cyprus  like  two  starres 
And  make  them  bow  their  knees  that  once  did  spume  you 
For  to  effect  such  wonders,  gold  can  turne  you. 
Brave  it  in  Famagosta,  or  elswhere ; 
He  travell  to  the  Turkish  Emperour. 
And  then  He  revell  it  with  Prester  John 
Or  banquet  with  great  Cham  of  Tartarie. 
And  trie  what  frolicke  court  the  Souldan  keepes. 
He  leave  you  presently.     Teare  off  these  rags ; 


236      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Glitter,  my  boyes,  like  Angels,  that  the  world 
May,  whilst  our  life  in  pleasure's  circle  romes, 
Wonder  at  Fortunatus  and  his  sons. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  in  the  end  the  riches 
bring  ruin  and  death  upon  Fortunatus  and  his  sons. 

Thomas  Heywood  was  a  University  man  and  a 
Fellow  of  Peterhouse  College,  but  the  date  of  neither  his 
birth  nor  death  is  known.  He  began  play- writing  at 
least  as  early  as  1596,  and  he  was  a  most  prolific  writer, 
for  in  1633  he  tells  us  that  '  amongst  two  hundred  and 
twenty  plays  I  have  had  either  an  entire  hand  or  at  the 
least  a  main  finger.'  Charles  Lamb  speaks  of  him  as  '  a 
sort  of  prose  Shakspere,'  and  says  that  '  his  characters  of 
country  gentlemen  &c.  are  exactly  what  we  see  in  life.' 

Of  Hey  wood's  many  plays  only  about  two  dozen  have 
been  preserved,  and  of  these  *  A  Woman  Killed  with  Kind- 
ness '  is  considered  his  masterpiece.  *  The  English 
Traveller '  and  '  The  Fair  Maid  of  the  West '  are  also 
very  fine,  and  from  the  former  of  these  we  make  one 
extract. 

Lionel,  a  gay  young  prodigal,  is  making  free  with  his 
father's  money,  and  is  feasting  with  his  wild  companions, 
but  in  some  fear  and  trembling,  for  the  old  gentleman  is 
expected  home  from  sea-  - 

In  the  height  of  their  carowsing,  all  their  braines 
Warm'd  with  the  heat  of  wine,  discourse  was  offered 
Of  ships  and  stormes  at  sea  ;  when  suddenly 
Out  of  his  giddy  wildnesse,  one  conceives 
The  roome  wherein  they  quafft  to  be  a  pinnace, 
Mooving  and  floating ;  and  the  confused  noise 
To  be  the  murmuring  windes,  gustes,  marriners ; 
That  their  unstedfast  footing  did  proceed 
From  rocking  of  the  vessel :  this  conceiv'd, 


THOMAS  HEYWOOD  237 

Each  one  begins  to  apprehend  the  danger, 

And  to  look  out  for  safety.     '  File,'  saith  one, 

'  Up  to  the  maintop  and  discover ;  '  hee 

Climbes  by  the  bed  post  to  the  teastor,  there 

Eeports  a  turbulent  sea  and  tempest  towards, 

And  wills  them  if  they'le  save  their  ship  and  lives, 

To  cast  their  lading  overboard  ;  at  this 

All  fall  to  worke,  and  hoyste  into  the  street, 

As  to  the  sea,  what  next  comes  to  their  hand, 

Stooles,  tables,  tressels,  trenchers,  bedsteds,  cups, 

Pots,  plate,  and  glasses ;  heere  a  fellow  whistles, 

They  take  him  for  the  boatswaine  ;  one  lyes  strugling 

Upon  the  floore  as  if  he  swome  for  life  ; 

A  third  takes  the  base-violl  for  the  cock-boate, 

Sits  on  the  belly  on't,  labours  and  rowes, 

His  oare  the  sticke  with  which  the  fiddler  plaid  : 

A  fourth  bestrides  his  fellowes,  thinking  to  'scape 

As  did  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  backe, 

Still  fumbling  on  a  gitterne. 

Of  the  life  of  John  Webster  scarcely  anything  is 
known,  not  even  the  year  of  his  birth  or  his  death  ;  and 
yet  in  some  respects  he  came  nearer  than  all  his  fellows 
to  Shakspere.  '  There  are  only  two  poets  of  that  age 
who  make  us  feel  that  the  words  assigned  to  the  crea- 
tures of  their  genius  are  the  very  words  they  must  have 
said,  the  only  words  they  could  have  said,  the  actual 
words  they  assuredly  did  say.  The  crowning  gift  of 
imagination,  the  power  to  make  us  realise  that  thus  and 
not  otherwise  it  was,  that  thus  and  not  otherwise  it  must 
have  been,  was  given  to  none  of  the  poets  of  the  time  but 
only  to  Shakspere  and  Webster.'1 

Webster  was  writing  for  the  stage  as  early  as  1601, 
and  in  1624  he  composed  for  the  Merchant  Taylors  the 
pageant  for  the  City  for  that  year.  Eight  of  his  plays 

1  Swinburne, 


238       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

have  been  preserved,  but  some  of  these  were  written  only 
in  part  by  him.  His  fame  chiefly  rests  on  two  great 
tragedies,  '  Vittoria  Corombona '  and  the  *  Duchess  of 
Main,'  both  taken  from  Italian  history,  and  both  giving 
vivid  pictures  of  the  horrible  depravity  of  Italian  society 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  In  the  former  play,  Vittoria  is 
false  to  her  husband  and  connives  at  his  murder ;  her 
lover,  the  Duke  Brachiano,  poisons  his  own  wife,  and  in 
the  end  is  poisoned  by  her  brother  and  avenger ;  while 
Vittoria's  brother,  Flaminio,  is  a  perfect  villain,  who  is 
the  instrument  of  many  crimes,  and  who  in  the  end 
meets  with  his  sister  the  death  he  so  well  merits. 

Among  the  pathetic  scenes  of  the  play  is  one  where 
Brachiano's  little  son  Giovanni  is  lamenting  for  his  dead 
mother — 

Giovanni.   What  do  the  dead  do,  uncle  ?  do  they  eate, 

Heare  musicke,  goe  a  hunting,  and  bee  merrie 
As  wee  that  live  ? 

Francisco.  No,  cose ;  they  sleepe. 

Giovanni.   Lord,  Lord,  that  I  were  dead ! 

I  have  not  slept  these  sixe  nights.    When  doe  they  wake  ? 

Francisco.  When  God  shall  please. 

Giovanni.  Good  God,  let  her  sleepe  ever ! 

For  I  have  knowne  her  wake  an  hundreth  nights, 
When  all  the  pillow  where  shee  laid  her  head 
Was  brine  wet  with  her  teares.     I  am  to  complaine  to 

you,  sir; 

He  tell  you  how  they  have  used  her  now  shee's  dead. 
They  wrapped  her  in  a  cruell  fould  of  lead, 
And  would  not  let  mee  kisse  her. 

In  another  part  of  the  play  Cornelia,  the  poor  dis- 
tracted mother  of  Vittoria,  mourns  thus  over  the  body  of 
her  son  slain  by  his  brother  : 

This  rosemarie  is  wither'd ;  pray,  get  fresh. 
I  would  have  these  herbes  grow  up  in  his  grave, 


JOHN    WEBSTER  239 

When  I  am  dead  and  rotten.     Keach  the  bayes, 
He  tye  a  garland  heere  about  his  head, 
'Twill  keepe  my  boy  from  lightning.     This  sheet 
I  have  kept  this  twentie  yere,  and  everie  daie 
Hallow'd  it  with  my  praiers  ;  I  did  not  thinke 
Hee  should  have  wore  it. 

Then  she  sings  a  doleful  song  which  her  grandmother 
used  to  sing  when  the  funeral  bell  tolled — • 

Call  for  the  robin-red-brest  and  the  wren, 

Since  ore  shadie  groves  they  hover, 

And  with  leaves  and  flowres  doe  cover 

The  friendlesse  bodies  of  unburied  men. 

Call  unto  his  funerall  dole 

The  ante,  the  field  mouse,  and  the  mole, 

To  reare  him  hillockes  that  shall  keepe  him  warm 

And  (when  gay  tombes  are  robbed)  sustaine  no  harme, 

But  keepe  the  wolfe  far  thence,  that's  foe  to  men, 

For  with  his  nailes  he'll  dig  them  up  agen. 

On  this  Charles  Lamb  remarks :  '  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  this  dirge  except  the  ditty  which  reminds 
Ferdinand  of  his  drowned  father  in  the  "  Tempest."  As 
that  is  of  the  water,  watery,  so  this  is  of  the  earth, 
earthy.' 

The  '  Duchess  of  Main  '  is  a  play  equally  filled  with 
horrors,  and  at  the  close  the  stage  is  strewed  with  the 
bodies  of  slain  men,  as  in  Shakspere's  '  Hamlet.'  The 
duchess  herself  is  a  loving  gentlewoman,  who,  by  her 
marriage  with  one  who  is  far  below  her  in  rank,  incurs 
the  fierce  anger  and  vengeance  of  her  two  proud  and  im- 
placable brothers,  a  duke  and  a  cardinal.  The  wife  and 
husband  think  it  will  be  prudent  to  part  for  a  time,  and 
the  departure  of  Antonio  is  feelingly  described — 

Duchess.  I  had  a  very  strange  dreame  to-night. 

Antonio.  What  was't  ? 

Dwhess,  Methought  I  wore  my  Coronet  of  State 


240       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

And  on  a  sudaine  all  the  Diamonds 

Were  changed  to  Pearles. 
Antonio.  My  Interpretation 

Is,  you'll  weepe  shortly ;  for  to  me,  the  pearles 

Doe  signifie  your  teares. 
Duchess.  The  birds  that  live  i'  the  field 

On  the  wilde  benefit  of  Nature  live 

Happier  than  we ;  for  they  may  choose  their  Mates, 

And  carroll  their  sweet  pleasures  to  the  Spring. 
Antonio.  Doe  not  weepe. 

Heaven  fashioned  us  of  nothing,  and  we  strive 

To  bring  ourselves  to  nothing ;  farewell,  Cariola, 

And  thy  sweet  armefull.     If  I  doe  never  see  thee  more, 

Be  a  good  Mother  to  your  little  ones, 

And  save  them  from  the  Tiger ;  fare  you  well. 
Duchess.  Let  me  looke  upon  you  once  more,  for  that  speech 

Came  from  a  dying  father ;  your  kisse  is  colder 

Then  I  have  seene  an  holy  Anchorite 

Give  to  a  dead  man's  skull. 
Antonio.  My  heart  is  turnde  to  a  heavy  lump  of  lead, 

With  which  I  sound  my  danger ;  fare  you  well. 
Duchess.  My  Laurell  is  all  withered. 

Philip  Massinger  was  born  at  Salisbury  in  1583. 
His  father  was  a  servant  in  some  honourable  capacity  to 
the  Herbert  family,  and  it  is  possible  that  Philip  may 
have  been  page  at  Wilton  to  Sidney's  sister,  the  Countess 
of  Pembroke,  and  that  he  thus  gained  the  knowledge  of 
courtly  manners  which  his  writings  manifest. 

He  went  to  Oxford  in  1602,  and  William  Herbert,  the 
young  Earl  of  Pembroke  (theW.  H.  of  Shakspere's  sonnets), 
was  his  patron  and  supporter.  He  left  Oxford  in  1606 
without  taking  a  degree,  and  it  has  been  supposed  that 
he  had  become  a  Roman  Catholic  and  had  lost  Pembroke's 
help  and  countenance.  The  tone  and  subject-matter  of 
several  of  his  plays,  especially  of  the  '  Virgin  Martyr,' 
render  it  probable  that  he  had  been  thus  converted. 


PHILIP   MASSINGER  241 

Massinger  appears  then  to  have  come  to  London  and 
to  have  taken  to  play- writing,  but  there  is  no  mention  of 
his  name  till  1621,  when  one  of  his  plays  was  acted  at 
court. 

Little  more  is  known  of  Massinger's  life,  and  in  1638 
he  died  in  his  house  on  the  Bankside  and  was  buried  in 
St.  Saviour's,  in  the  same  grave,  so  it  is  said,  with  John 
Fletcher,  his  fellow- dramatist  and  co-worker. 

Massinger  wrote  many  plays  which  have  been  lost ; 
but  eighteen  have  been  preserved,  and  of  these  the  best 
are  'A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,'  'The  Great  Duke 
of  Florence,'  and  '  The  Virgin  Martyr.' 

In  the  first  of  these  plays  Massinger  draws  his  most 
powerful  character,  that  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  a  grasp- 
ing tyrannical  man  who  plots  the  ruin  of  his  neighbours 
in  order  to  gain  their  estates.  He  himself  describes  his 
method  of  devouring  a  victim — 

He  therefore  buy  some  cottage  neare  his  mannour, 

Which  done,  He  make  my  men  breake  ope  his  fences, 

Bide  ore  his  standing  corne,  and  in  the  night 

Set  lire  on  his  farmes,  or  breake  his  cattells'  legges ; 

These  trespasses  draw  on  suites,  and  suites  expences 

Which  I  can  spare,  but  will  soone  begger  him. 

When  I  have  harmed  him  thus  two  or  three  yeare, 

Though  he  sue  in  forma  pauperis,  in  spite 

Of  all  his  thrift  and  care,  he'll  grow  behindhand. 

Then  with  the  favour  of  my  man  of  Law, 

I  will  pretend  some  title ;  want  will  force  him 

To  put  it  to  arbitrement ;  then  if  he  sell 

For  halfe  the  value,  he  shall  have  ready  money, 

And  I  possesse  his  land. 

When  one  remonstrates  with  him — 

Are  you  not  frighted  with  the  imprecations 
And  curses  of  whole  families  made  wretched 
By  your  sinister  practices  ? — 


242        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 
he  answers  shamelessly : 

Yes,  as  rocks  are 

When  foamie  billowes  split  themselves  against 
Their  flinty  ribbes ;  or  as  the  moone  is  mov'd 
When  wolves,  with  hunger  pin'd,  howle  at  her  brightnesse. 

When  they  call  me 

Extortioner,  tyrant,  cormorant  or  intruder 
On  my  poore  neighbour's  right,  or  grand  incloser 
Of  what  was  common,  to  my  private  use ; 
Nay,  when  my  ears  are  pierced  with  widdowes  cries, 
And  undone  orphants  wash  with  teares  my  threshold, 
I  only  think  what  'tis  to  have  my  daughter 
Bight  honorable ;  and  'tis  a  powerfull  charme 
Makes  me  insensible  of  remorse  or  pitty, 
Or  the  least  sting  of  conscience. 

His  daughter  Margaret  is  as  gentle  and  delightful  as 
her  father  is  odious — 

If  ever 

The  Queene  of  flowers,  the  glory  of  the  spring, 
The  sweetest  comfort  to  our  smell,  the  rose, 
Sprang  from  an  envious  briar,  I  may  inferre 
There's  such  disparitie  in  their  conditions, 
Betweene  the  goddesse  of  my  soule,  the  daughter, 
And  the  base  churle  her  father. 

Sir  Giles  hopes  to  gain  Lord  Lovell  for  a  son-in-law5 
and  spares  no  cost  for  his  entertainment — 

Let  no  plate  be  scene  but  what's  pure  gold 
Or  such  whose  workmanship  exceeds  the  matter 
That  it  is  made  of ;  let  my  choicest  linnen 
Perfume  the  roome,  and,  when  we  wash,  the  water 
With  pretious  powders  mix'd,  so  please  my  Lord 
That  he  may  with  envy  wish  to  bath  so  ever. 

His  daughter,  too,  must  dress  in  her  best — 

Ha  !  this  is  a  neate  dressing  ! 
These  orient  pearles  and  diamonds  well  plac'd  too  I 
The  gowne  affects  me  not,  it  should  have  beene 
Embro.ider'd  o're  and  o're  with  flowers  of  gold ; 
But  these  rich  jewels  and  quaint  fashion  helpe  it. 
And  how  below  ?  since  oft  the  wanton  eye, 


BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER  243 

The  face  observd,  descends  unto  the  foot, 
Which  being  well  proportioned  as  yours  is, 
Invites  as  much  as  perfect  white  and  red, 
Though  without  art. 

In  the  end  Margaret  weds  not  Lord  Lovell,  but  her 
own  true  lover  Allworth  ;  the  title-deeds  which  Sir  Giles 
has  wickedly  obtained  are  found  to  be  invalid,  and  he 
himself  goes  mad  with  disappointment  and  rage. 

Francis   Beaumont  and  John   Fletcher. — Of  all 

the  followers  of  Shakspere,  perhaps  the  greatest  were  the 
pair  whose  names  will  now  be  for  ever  united.  Literary 
partnership  among  the  dramatists  of  that  age  was  no 
uncommon  thing,  but  the  union  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  was  very  close  and  tender.  '  They  lived/  says 
an  old  writer,  l  together  on  the  Bankside  not  far  from 
the  playhouse,  were  both  bachelors,  lay  together,  and 
had  but  one  servant  in  the  house.'  And  this  was  not 
from  poverty  but  choice ;  for,  unlike  their  fellow-drama- 
tists, they  belonged  to  the  higher  ranks  of  society ; 
Beaumont's  father  being  a  judge,  while  Fletcher  was  son 
of  the  Bishop  of  London. 

They  were  therefore  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
manners  and  language  of  the  court,  and  Dry  den  con- 
sidered that  in  some  respects  they  excelled  even  Shak- 
spere. '  They  understood  and  imitated  the  conversation 
of  gentleman  much  better,  whose  wild  debaucheries  and 
quickness  of  wit  in  repartees  no  poet  can  ever  paint  as 
they  have  done.  I  am  apt  to  believe  that  the  English 
language  in  them  arrived  to  its  highest  perfection  ;  what 
words  have  since  been  taken  in,  are  rather  superfluous 
than  necessary.' 

BS 


244       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLTSH   LITERATURE 

Beaumont  was  the  y.ounger  of  the  two,  being  born  in 
1584,  while  Fletcher  was  born  in  1579.  Beaumont  died 
young  in  1616,  within  a  month  or  two  of  Shakspere, 
while  Fletcher  lived  on  till  1625. 

In  the  joint  works  of  the  two  poets  it  is  difficult,  if 
not  impossible,  to  separate  the  parts  belonging  to  each  ; 
but  it  is  thought  that  the  characters  which  display  the 
greatest  depth  of  imagination  are  the  work  of  Beaumont, 
while  the  many  light  and  graceful  scenes  were  con- 
tributed by  Fletcher.  We  are  told  that  Beaumont  was 
held  in  high  esteem  by  Ben  Jonson,  who  '  while  he  lived 
submitted  all  his  writings  to  his  censure,  and,  'tis 
thought,  used  his  judgment  in  correcting  if  not  in  con- 
triving all  his  plots.' !  On  the  other  hand,  Fletcher  had 
the  honour  of  being  fellow-worker  with  Shakspere.  The 
fine  play  of  '  The  two  Noble  Kinsmen,'  in  which  Chaucer's 
story  of  '  Palaemon  and  Arcite '  is  again  set  forth,  is 
stated  to  be  the  work  of  '  the  admirable  worthies  of  their 
time,  Mr.  John  Fletcher  and  Mr.  William  Shakspeare.' 
Later  critics  agree,  too,  that  a  considerable  portion  of 
Henry  VIII.  is  the  work  of  Fletcher. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  the  joint  plays  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  is  '  Philaster,'  which  has  been  called  '  the  love- 
liest though  not  the  loftiest  of  tragic  plays  that  we  owe 
to  the  companions  or  the  successors  of  Shakespeare.' 2 
Philaster  is  a  prince,  and  the  true  heir  to  the  crown  of 
Sicily,  but  is  kept  from  his  rights  by  the  King  of  Calabria, 
who  would  imprison  and  even  kill  him  if  he  dared,  but — 

the  city  was  in  armes  not  to  bee  charm'd  downe  by  any  state-order  or 
proclamation,  till  they  saw  Philaster  ride  through  the  streetes  pleasde 


Dryden.  2  Swinburne 


BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER  245 

and  without  a  guard ;  at  which  they  threw  their  hats  and  their  armes 
from  them,  some  to  make  bonfires,  some  to  drinke,  all  for  his  deliver- 
ance. 

Then  the  king  invites  Pharamond,  the  Prince  of  Spain, 
to  marry  his  daughter  Arethusa,  intending  thus  to  ally  his 
country  with  a  mighty  foreign  kingdom.  But  Philaster 
defies  Pharamond  even  in  the  king's  presence — 

I  tell  thee,  Pharamond, 

When  thou  art  king,  looke  I  be  dead  and  rotten, 
And  my  name  ashes  ;  for,  heare  me,  Pharamond, 
This  very  ground  thou  goest  on,  this  fat  earth, 
My  father's  friends  made  fertile  with  their  faiths, 
Before  that  day  of  shame,  shall  gape  and  swallow 
Thee  and  thy  nation,  like  a  hungry  grave 
Into  her  hidden  bowells  ;  prince,  it  shall ; 
Ry  Nemesis  it  shall ! 

'  Sure  hee's  possesst,'  says  the  king,  and  the  prince 
answers : 

Yes,  with  my  father's  spirit.     It's  here,  O  King, 
A  dangerous  spirit !  now  he  tells  me,  King, 
I  was  a  King's  Heire,  bids  me  be  a  King, 
And  whispers  to  me,  these  are  all  my  subjects. 
'Tis  strange  he  will  not  let  me  sleepe,  but  dives 
Into  my  fancy,  and  there  gives  me  shapes 
That  kneele  and  doe  me  service,  cry  me  King. 

Philaster  and  Arethusa  meet  and  confess  their  mutual 
love,  and  the  prince  arranges  that  his  page  -  Bellario 
shall  enter  her  service,  and  shall  carry  their  mes- 
sages of  love.  Bellario,  like  Shakspere's  Viola,  is  a 
maiden  in  disguise,  and  in  one  of  the  finest  passages 
of  the  play  Philaster  describes  how  he  first  met  with 
her — 

I  have  a  boy 

Sent  by  the  gods,  I  hope,  to  this  intent, 
Not  vet  scene  in  the  Court.     Hunting  the  bucke, 


246       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

I  found  him  sitting  by  a  fountaine's  side, 

Of  which  he  borrowed  some  to  quench  his  thirst, 

And  payd  the  Nymph  againe  as  much  in  teares. 

A  garland  lay  him  by,  made  by  himselfe 

Of  many  severall  flowers  bred  in  the  vale, 

Stucke  in  that  misticke  order  that  the  rarenesse 

Delighted  me  ;  but  ever  when  he  turn'd 

His  tender  eyes  upon  'em,  he  would  weepe, 

As  if  he  meant  to  make  'em  grow  againe. 

Seeing  such  pretty  helpelesse  innocence 

Dwell  in  his  face,  I  ask'd  him  all  his  story ; 

He  told  me  that  his  parents  gentle  dyed, 

Leaving  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  fields, 

Which  gave  him  rootes ;  and  of  the  christall  springs, 

Which  did  not  stop  their  courses ;  and  the  sun, 

Which  still,  he  thank'd  him,  yeelded  him  his  light. 

Then  took  he  up  his  garland,  and  did  shew 

What  every  flower,  as  country  people  hold, 

Did  signifie,  and  how  all,  ordered  thus, 

Expresst  his  griefe  ;  and.  to  my  thoughts,  did  reade 

The  prettiest  lecture  of  his  country  art 

That  could  be  wisht ;  so  that  methought  I  could 

Have  studied  it.     I  gladly  entertain'd 

Him,  who  was  glad  to  follow  ;  and  have  got 

The  trustiest,  loving'st,  and  the  gentlest  boy 

That  ever  maister  kept.     Him  will  I  send 

To  waite  on  you,  and  beare  our  hidden  love. 

After  a  time  Philaster  is  led  to  believe  that  Arethusa 
and  Bellario  are  false  to  him,  and  he  retreats  to  the  woods 
in  despair  - 

Oh,  that  I  had  beene  nourish 'd  in  these  woods 
With  milke  of  goates  and  akrons,  and  not  knowne 
The  right  of  crownes  nor  the  dissembling  traines 
Of  women's  lookes  ;  but  digged  myself  a  cave, 
Where  I,  my  fire,  my  cattell,  and  my  bed, 
Might  have  beene  shut  together  in  one  shed ; 
And  then  had  taken  me  some  mountaine  girle, 
Beaten  with  winds,  chaste  as  the  hard'ned  rocks 
Whereon  she  dwelt,  that  might  have  strewed  my  bed 


BEAUMONT  AND   FLETCHER  247 

With  leaves  and  reedes,  and  with  the  skins  of  beasts 
Our  neighbours,  and  have  borne  at  her  big  breasts 
My  large  coarse  issue  !     This  had  beene  a  life 
Free  from  vexation. 

In  the  end  misunderstandings  are  removed,  Philaster 
and  Arethusa  are  happily  united,  and  the  unworthy 
Prince  Pharamond  returns  to  his  own  land. 

There  are  more  than  fifty  plays  which  bear  the 
names  of  the  two  poets,  but  it  is  thought  that 
thirteen  only  of  them  are  really  their  joint  work.  The 
rest  were  written  by  Fletcher  either  alone  or  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Massinger  or  other  dramatists.  Next  to 
'  Philaster,'  the  best  plays  of  the  two  friends  are  perhaps 
'  The  Maid's  Tragedy '  and  '  A  King  and  no  King/ 
Among  those  written  by  Fletcher  alone,  the  best  are 
perhaps  '  Bule  a  Wife  and  have  a  Wife  '  and  '  The  Faith- 
ful Shepherdess.'  The  latter  is  one  of  three  beautiful 
pastoral  poems  which  English  literature  possesses,  the 
other  two  being  Ben  Jonson's  '  Sad  Shepherd '  and 
Milton's  '  Comus.' 

These  names  do  not  exhaust  the  list  of  authors. 
There  is  Chapman,  the  burly  translator  of  Homer,  who 
was  also  great  at  a  play  or  a  masque ;  Middleton,  whose 
play  of  *  The  Witch '  has  curious  points  of  resemblance 
to '  Macbeth  ' ;  Ford  and  Tourneur,  whose  tragedies,  like 
those  of  Webster,  are  tales  of  terror ;  and  Shirley,  with 
whom  this  great  period  of  the  drama  declines  and  ends. 
'  After  the  pallid  moonrise  of  Shirley,  the  glory  had 
passed  away  from  our  drama  to  alight  upon  that  summit 
of  epic  song  whence  Milton  held  communion  with  dark- 
ness and  the  stars.' l 

1  Swinburne. 


248       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Great  as  many  of  these  writers  are,  their  highest 
efforts  of  imagination  only  bring  out  into  greater  relief 
the  incomparable  grace  and  majesty  of  Shakspere. 
Charles  Lamb  says  of  one  of  them :  '  His  scenes  are 
to  the  full  as  natural  and  affecting  as  Shakspere's. 
But  we  miss  the  poet — that  which  in  Shakspere  always 
appears  out  and  above  the  surface  of  the  nature.  Shak- 
spere makes  us  believe  while  we  are  among  his  lovely 
creations  that  they  are  nothing  but  what  we  are  familiar 
with,  as  in  dreams  new  things  seem  old,  but  we  awake 
and  sigh  for  the  difference.' 

Perhaps  in  nothing  is  the  superiority  of  Shakspere 
more  strikingly  shown  than  in  his  sobriety  both  in  the 
choice  and  the  treatment  of  his  subjects.  Many  of  the 
subjects  chosen  by  the  lesser  dramatists  are  stories  of 
wild  and  unnatural  crimes,  and  the  very  titles  of  some  of 
them  are  offensive  to  modern  ears.  We  do  not  wonder 
that  the  stern  Puritans  frowned  upon  the  drama,  and  in 
their  day  of  power  the  theatres  were  closed  in  1642,  and 
more  decisively  in  1648. 


TWO   BROTHERS:    EDWARD   AND   GEORGE   HERBERT. 

THE  '  Life  of  George  Herbert '  is  one  of  the  pleasant  little 
biographies  written  by  Izaak  Walton.  The  poet  was 
born,  we  are  told,  in  1593,  in  Montgomery  Castle,  '  a 
place  of  state  and  strength  which  had  been  successively 
happy  in  the  family  of  Herberts,  who  had  long  possessed 
it ;  and  with  it  a  plentiful  estate,  and  hearts  as  liberal 
to  their  poor  neighbours.' 


GEORGE  HERBERT  249 

George  was  the  fifth  of  seven  brothers,  and  Edward 
who  became  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  was  the  eldest. 
The  father  died  when  George  was  four  years  old,  but  the 
mother  was  a  wise  and  accomplished  woman,  and  she 
reared  her  children  well.  She  was  a  patroness  of  men 
of  letters,  and  among  them  of  the  poet  Donne,  and 
Walton  tells  us  that  he  '  saw  and  heard  this  Mr.  John 
Donne  (who  was  then  Dean  of  St.  Paul's)  weep  and 
preach  her  funeral  sermon  in  the  parish  church  or 
Chelsea,  near  London,  where  she  now  rests  in  her  quiet 
grave.' 

George  was  sent  at  an  early  age  to  Westminster 
School,  *  where  the  beauties  of  his  pretty  behaviour  and 
wit  shined  and  became  so  eminent  and  lovely  in  this  his 
innocent  age  that  he  seemed  to  be  marked  out  for  piety.' 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  went  to  Cambridge,  and  at 
twenty-two  he  was  Master  of  Arts  and  Senior  Fellow  of 
his  college.  A  few  years  later  he  was  chosen  Orator  of 
the  University,  and  held  the  office  for  eight  years  with 
great  approbation.  The  scholarly  King  James  said  '  that 
he  took  him  to  be  the  jewel  of  that  University,'  and  Sir 
Francis  Bacon  and  Launcelot,  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
are  mentioned  as  two  of  his  most  devoted  friends. 

Herbert  was  looking  forward  to  some  preferment  at 
court,  but  when  King  James  died  his  court  hopes  were 
over,  and  '  at  last  God  inclined  him  to  put  on  a  resolu- 
tion to  serve  at  His  altar.' 

His  first  church  was  at  Lay  ton  Ecclesia,  near  Spald- 
ing,  in  Huntingdonshire,  where  the  church  was  in  ruins ; 
but  Herbert  did  not  rest  till  it  was  re-edified  and  made 
beautiful,  '  being,  for  the  workmanship,  a  costly  mosaic. 


250       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

for  the  form  an  exact  cross,  and  for  the  decency  and 
beauty  the  most  remarkable  parish  church  that  this 
nation  afforded.' 

Herbert's  dearest  friend  at  this  time  was  Nicholas 
Ferrar,  who  was  at  the  head  of  a  Protestant  monastery 
which  was  much  talked  of  then,  at  Little  Gidding,  in 
Huntingdonshire.  Here,  with  his  mother  and  brother 
and  nieces  and  servants,  a  company  in  all  of  about 
thirty  persons,  Ferrar  maintained  almost  without  inter- 
mission, by  day  and  by  night,  a  reading  of  the  psalms 
and  church  prayers,  and  portions  of  the  Scripture. 

In  1629  Herbert  was  seized  with  ague,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  remove  to  different  air,  and  the  next  year  he 
became  rector  of  Bemerton,  near  Salisbury.  He  was 
now  married,  and  he  spent  three  happy  years  in  Bemer- 
ton. Music  had  always  been  one  of  his  greatest  plea- 
sures, and  '  he  went  usually  twice  every  week  on  certain 
appointed  days  to  the  cathedral  church  in  Salisbury; 
and  at  his  return  would  say  "  that  his  time  spent  in 
prayer  and  cathedral  music  elevated  his  soul,  and  was 
his  heaven  upon  earth." 

Herbert  -died  in  1683,  and  on  his  death-bed  he  said 
to  a  friend  who  stood  by,  *  I  pray  deliver  this  little  book 
to  my  dear  brother  Ferrar.  Desire  him  to  read  it,  and 
then  if  he  can  think  it  may  turn  to  the  advantage  of 
any  dejected  poor  soul,  let  it  be  made  public ;  if  not 
let  him  burn  it ;  for  I  and  it  are  less  than  the  least  of 
God's  mercies.' 

This  was  the  famous  little  book  '  The  Temple,  or 
Sacred  Poems,  and  Private  Ejaculations,'  of  which  three 
editions  were  issued  in  that  first  }'ear,  1633,  and  many 


GEORGE  HERBERT  251 

an  edition  since.  The  book  contains  about  150  little 
poems,  all  breathing  a  spirit  of  piety  and  purity  ;  but 
they  are  not  all  of  equal  excellence.  Perhaps  the  most 
perfect  is  the  following : 

VEKTUE. 
Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

The  bridall  of  the  earth  and  skie : 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night ; 
For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue  angrie  and  brave 

Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye ; 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  dayes  and  roses 

A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie ; 
My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

Onely  a  sweet  and  vertuous  soul, 

Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives ; 
And  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

The  poem  on  '  Sunday '  is  also  beautiful,  and  the 
following  are  two  of  the  finest  stanzas  : 

Sundaies  the  pillares  are, 
On  which  heavens  palace  arched  lies  ; 
The  other  dayes  fill  up  the  spare 
And  hollow  room  with  vanities. 
They  are  the  fruitfull  beds  and  borderes 
In  Gods  rich  garden  ;  that  is  bare, 

Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 

The  Sundaies  of  mans  life, 
Thredded  together  on  times  string, 
Make  bracelets  to  adorn  the  wife 

Of  the  eternall  glorious  King. 
On  Sunday  heavens  gate  stands  ope ; 
Blessings  are  plentiful  and  rife, 

More  plentiful  then  hope. 


2C2       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  poem  beginning  '  Sweet  Peace,  where  dost  thou 
dwell  ? '  is  also  very  beautiful,  but  it  is  too  long  to  be 
extracted.  Some  of  Herbert's  poems  are  very  quaint  and 
fanciful,  as  the  following : 

Jesu  is  in  my  heart,  his  sacred  name 
Is  deeply  carved  there;  but  th'  other  week 
A  great  affliction  broke  the  little  frame, 
Ev'n  all  to  pieces  ;  which  I  went  to  seek  : 
And  first  I  found  the  corner,  where  was  J, 
After,  where  ES,  and  next  where  U  was  graved. 
When  I  had  got  these  parcels,  instantly 
I  sat  me  down  to  spell  them,  and  perceived 
That  to  my  broken  heart  he  was  I  ease  you, 
And  to  my  whole  is  Jesu. 

Such,  too,  is  the  following : 

PARADISE. 

I  blesse  thee,  Lord,  because  I  grow 
Among  thy  trees,  which  in  a  row 
To  thee  both  fruit  and  order  ow. 
What  open  force,  or  hidden  chann 
Can  blast  my  fruit,  or  bring  me  harm, 
While  the  inclosure  is  thine  arml 
Inclose  me  still  for  fear  I  start, 
Be  to  me  rather  sharp  and  tart 
Than  let  me  want  thy  hand  and  art. 
When  thou  dost  greater  judgements  spare, 
And  with  thy  knife  but  prune  and  pare, 
Ev'n  fruitfull  trees  more  fruitfull  arc. 
Such  sharpnes  shows  the  sweetest  frend, 
Such  cuttings  rather  heal  then  rend, 
And  such  beginnings  touch  their  end. 

The  elder  brother,  Edward,  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 
was  a  very  different  man.  He  died  in  1648,  thus  outliving 
George  by  fifteen  years.  He  wrote  and  published  in  1624  a 
Latin  work,  'De  Veritate,'  on  the  subject  of  natural  as 
opposed  to  revealed  religion,  and  he  was  thus  one  of  the 


EDWARD  LORD  HERBERT  253 

earliest  as  he  was  also  one  of  the  ablest  of  English  free- 
thinkers. 

He  also  wrote  a  'History  of  Henry  VIII.'  after  the 
model  of  Bacon's  '  History  of  Henry  VII.' ;  but  the  work 
by  which  he  is  best  known  is  his  autobiography,  which 
lay  in  manuscript  for  a  century  after  his  death,  and  was 
first  published  by  Horace  Walpole. 

This  work  is  in  many  respects  most  interesting,  but 
some  little  suspicion  of  its  truthfulness  is  aroused  by  the 
tone  of  self-satisfaction  which  fills  it.  No  one  so  valiant, 
so  sagacious,  so  successful  as  Lord  Herbert  himself. 

The  following  description  of  an  ancestor  is  a  keynote 
to  the  book : 

My  great-grandfather,  Sir  Hi  chard  Herbert  of  Colebrook,  was  that 
incomparable  heroe  who  twice  past  through  a  great  army  of  Northern 
men  alone,  with  his  pole-ax  in  his  hand,  and  returned  without  any 
mortal  hurt,  which  is  more  than  is  famed  of  Amadis  de  Gall,  or  the 
Knight  of  the  Sun.  , 

The  writer  pays  an  affectionate  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  his  brother  George — 

My  brother  George  was  so  excellent  a  scholar  that  he  was  made  the 
publick  Orator  of  the  University  in  Cambridge,  some  of  whose  English 
works  are  extant,  which  tho  they  be  rare  in  their  kind,  yet  are  far  short 
of  expressing  those  perfections  he  had  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  Tongue, 
and  all  divine  and  human  literature.  His  life  was  most  holy  and 
exemplary,  insomuch  that  about  Salisbury,  where  he  lived  beneficed 
for  many  years,  he  was  little  less  than  sainted. 

At  school  Lord  Herbert  was  sometimes  punished  for 
fighting,  but  never  for  lying — 

I  remember  in  that  time  I  was  corrected  sometimes  for  going  to  cuffs 
with  two  schoolfellows,  being  both  elder  than  myself,  but  never  for  tell- 
ing a  lye  or  any  other  fault ;  and  I  can  affirm  to  all  the  world  truly,  that 
from  my  first  infancy  to  this  hour  I  told  not  willingly  anything  that  was 
false,  my  soul  naturally  having  an  antipathy  to  lying  and  deceit. 


254       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURK 
He  proved  himself  also  a  most  nimble  learner ~ 

I  did  without  any  master  or  teacher  attain  the  knowledge  of  the  French, 
Italian  and  Spanish  Languages  by  the  help  of  some  books  in  Latin  or 
English ;  I  attained  also  to  sing  my  part  at  first  sight  in  Music,  and  to 
play  on  the  Lute  with  very  little  or  almost  no  teaching.  My  intention 
in  learning  Languages  being  to  make  myself  a  Citizen  of  the  World  as 
far  as  it  were  possible,  and  my  learning  of  Music  was  for  this  end,  that 
I  might  entertain^  myself  at  home,  and  together  refresh  my  mind  after 
my  studies. 

Lord  Herbert  regarded  the  study  of  medicine  as  a 
most  proper  one  for  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  and  he 
gives  several  marvellous  instances  of  his  skill  in  pre- 
scription. 

About  1600  he  came  to  London  and  to  the  court— 

I  was  likewise  upon  my  knee  in  the  Presence  Chamber,  when  the 
queen  passed  by  to  the  Chapell  at  Whitehall.  As  soon  as  she  saw  me, 
she  stopt,  and  swearing  her  usual  Oath  demanded,  '  Who  is  this  ? ' 
Everybody  there  present  looked  upon  me,  but  no  man  knew  me,  until 
Sir  James  Croft,  a  Pensioner,  finding  the  queen  stayed,  returned  back 
and  told  who  I  was,  and  that  I  had  married  Sir  William  Herbert  of  St. 
Gillian's  daughter.  The  queen  hereupon  looked  attentively  upon  me, 
and  swearing  again  her  ordinary  Oath,  said  it  was  a  pity  he  was  married 
so  young,  and  thereupon  gave  her  hand  to  kiss  twice,  both  times  gently 
clapping  me  on  the  cheek. 

A  little  while  later  he  went  to  France,  and  he  won  the 
friendship  of  the  great  Duke  of  Montmorency,  and  he 
gives  a  beautiful  description  of  the  duke's  castle  at 
Chantilly,  where  he  was  both  now  and  in  later  years  a 
welcome  guest. 

Lord  Herbert  gives  an  account  of  several  duels  in 
which  his  opponents  failed  to  appear,  and  he  describes  a 
terrible  combat  with  Sir  John  Ayres  in  Scotland  Yard,  in 
which  he  remained  the  victor,  though  fighting  against 
terrible  odds. 


EDWARD   LORD  HERBERT  255 

Once  while  living  in  London  his  house  was  attacked 
by  robbers  at  midnight— 

Taking  a  Sword  in  one  hand  and  a  little  Target  in  the  other,  I  did  in 
my  shirt  run  down  the  Stairs,  open  the  Doors  suddainly  and  charged 
ten  or  twelve  of  them  with  that  fury  that  they  ran  away,  some  throwing 
away  their  Halberts,  others  hurting  their  fellows  to  make  them  go  faster 
in  a  narrow  way  they  were  to  pass ;  in  which  disordered  manner  I  drove 
them  to  the  middle  of  the  Street  by  the  Exchange,  where,  finding  my 
bare  feet  hurt  by  the  stones  I  trod  on,  I  thought  fit  to  return  home,  and 
leave  them  to  their  flight. 

He  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  France,  and  he  gives 
a  curious  little  picture  of  King  Louis  XIII.— 

His  words  were  never  many,  as  being  so  extream  a  Stutterer,  that 
he  wou'd  sometimes  hold  his  Tongue  out  of  his  Mouth  a  good  while, 
before  he  cou'd  speak  so  much  as  one  word ;  he  had,  besides,  a  double 
row  of  Teeth,  and  was  observed  seldom  or  never  to  spit,  or  blow  his 
Nose,  or  to  sweat  much,  tho  he  were  very  laborious,  and  almost  indifati- 
gable  in  his  Exercises  of  Hunting  and  Hawking  to  which  he  was  much 
addicted. 

When  Lord  Herbert  had  finished  his  book  '  De 
Veritate  '  he  doubted  whether  it  would  be  expedient  to 
publish  it,  and  he  appealed  to  heaven  for  guidance— 

Being  thus  doubtfull  in  my  Chamber,  one  fair  day  in  the  Summer, 
my  Casement  being  opened  towards  the  South,  the  Sun  shining  clear,  and 
no  Wind  stirring,  I  took  my  book  « De  Veritate '  in  my  hand,  and,  kneel- 
ing on  my  Knees,  devoutly  said  these  words :  — '  0  Thou  Eternal  God, 
A.uthor  of  the  Light  which  now  shines  upon  me,  and  Giver  of  all  inward 
Illuminations,  I  do  beseech  Thee  of  Thy  infinite  Goodness,  to  pardon  a 
greater  Bequest  than  a  Sinner  ought  to  make ;  I  am  not  satisfied  enough 
whether  I  shall  publish  this  book  '  De  Veritate.'  If  it  be  for  Thy  Glory, 
[  beseech  Thee  give  me  some  Sign  from  Heaven ;  if  not,  I  shall  sup- 
press it.' 

I  had  no  sooner  spoken  these  words,  but  a  loud  tho  yet  gentle  Noise 
came  from  ihe  Heavens  (for  it  was  like  nothing  on  Earth),  which  did  so 
comfort  and  cheer  me,  that  I  took  my  Petition  as  granted,  and  that  I 
had  the  Sign  I  demanded,  whereupon  also  I  resolved  to  print  my  Book. 


256       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

JEREMY   TAYLOR. 

THERE  are  some  five  or  six  names — Hooker,  Taylor, 
Barrow,  Berkeley,  Butler,  Wilson — the  great  ornaments 
of  the  Church  of  England,  of  whom  some  account  must 
be  given.  Of  these  Hooker  is  perhaps  the  greatest,  but 
Jeremy  Taylor  excels  all  the  others  in  the  richness  of 
his  overflowing  imagination  and  in  the  music  and  charm 
of  his  language. 

He  is  a  prose  poet  of  the  age  which  followed  Shak- 
spere,  and  in  his  finest  passages  he  reminds  us  of  the 
great  poet.  *  Metaphors  multiply  one  above  the  other, 
jumbled,  blocking  each  other's  path  as  in  Shakspeare. 
We  think  to  follow  one,  and  a  second  begins,  then  a  third 
cutting  into  the  second,  and  so  on,  flower  after  flower, 
firework  after  firework,  so  that  the  brightness  becomes 
misty  with  sparks  and  the  sight  ends  in  a  haze.' ] 

A  fine  example  of  this  exuberance  of  fancy  may  be 
taken  from  his  sermon  on  '  The  Eeturn  of  Prayers.' 
He  is  describing  how  anger,  even  righteous  anger,  pre- 
vents our  prayers  from  ascending  to  heaven— 

For  so  have  I  seen  a  lark  rising  from  his  bed  of  grasse,  and  soaring 
upwards,  singing  as  he  rises,  and  hopes  to  get  to  heaven,  and  climbe 
above  the  clouds ;  but  the  poor  bird  was  beaten  back  with  the  loud 
sighings  of  an  eastern  winde,  and  his  motion  made  irregular  and  uncon- 
stant,  descending  more  at  every  breath  of  the  tempest,  then  it  could 
recover  by  the  libration  and  frequent  weighing  of  his  wings;  till  the 
little  creature  was  forced  to  sit  down  and  pant,  and  stay  till  the  storm 
was  over,  and  then  it  made  a  prosperous  flight,  and  did  rise  and  sing  as 
if  it  had  learned  musick  and  motion  from  an  Angell  as  he  passed  some- 
times through  the  aire  about  his  ministries  here  below:  so  are  the  prayers 
of  a  good  man  when  his  affairs  have  required  businesse,  and  his  busi- 

1  Taine. 


JEREMY  TAYLOR  257 

nesse  was  matter  of  discipline,  and  anger  was  its  instrument,  and  the 
instrument  became  stronger  than  the  prime  agent,  and  raised  a  tempest, 
and  overruled  the  man ;  and  then  his  prayer  was  broken,  and  his  thoughts 
were  troubled,  and  his  words  went  up  towards  a  cloud,  and  his  thoughts 
pulled  them  back  again,  and  made  them  without  intention;  and  the 
good  man  sighs  for  his  infirmity,  but  must  be  content  to  lose  that  prayer, 
and  he  must  recover  it  when  his  anger  is  removed  and  his  spirit  is 
becalmed,  made  even  as  the  brow  of  Jesus,  and  smooth  like  the  heart  of 
God ;  and  then  it  ascends  to  heaven  upon  the  wings  of  the  holy  dove, 
and  dwels  with  God  till  it  returnes  like  the  usefull  Bee,  loaden  with  a 
blessing  and  the  dew  of  heaven. 

Taylor  was  born  in  1613  in  Cambridge,  where  his 
father  was  a  barber.  He  became  a  sizar,  or  poor  scholar, 
of  Cains  College,  and  he  was  elected  Fellow  in  1631. 
He  came  to  London  as  a  preacher,  and  gained  the  notice 
and  friendship  of  Laud,  who  sent  him  to  Oxford  to  con- 
tinue his  studies,  and  who  afterwards  chose  him  as  one 
of  his  chaplains.  He  was  made  rector  of  Uppingham 
in  Huntingdonshire  in  1638 ;  but  he  lost  the  living  when 
the  civil  war  broke  out,  and  he  was  one  of  those  who 
joined  King  Charles  at  Oxford. 

We  have  no  full  and  exact  account  of  his  life  during 
the  years  of  trouble  that  followed,  but  we  know  that  he 
suffered  fine  and  imprisonment  more  than  once,  and  in 
the  Dedication  prefixed  to  '  Holy  Living  and  Dying '  he 
makes  pathetic  allusion  to  the  troubles  of  the  time— 

I  have  lived  to  see  Keligion  painted  upon  banners  and  thrust  out  of 
Churches ;  and  the  Temple  turned  into  a  Tabernacle  made  ambulatory, 
and  covered  with  skins  of  beasts  and  torn  curtains;  and  God  to  be 
worshipped,  not  as  he  is,  '  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  '  (an  afflicted 
Prince,  the  King  of  sufferings),  nor  as  the  'God  of  peace'  (which  two 
appellatives  God  newly  took  upon. him  in  the  New  Testament,  and  glories 
in  for  ever),  but  he  is  owned  now  rather  as  '  the  Lord  of  Hosts '  which 
title  he  was  pleased  to  lay  aside,  when  the  kingdom  of  the  Gospel  was 
preached  by  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


258       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  the  dedication  prefixed  to  another  work  he  tells 
how  his  fortune  had  carried  him  into  Wales,  and  in  that 
country  he  remained  for  some  years— 

In  this  great  Storm  which  hath  dasht  the  Vessell  of  the  Church  all 
in  pieces,  I  have  been  cast  upon  the  Coast  of  Wales,  and  in  a  little  Boat 
thought  to  have  enjoyed  that  rest  and  quietnesse  which  in  England  in  a 
greater  I  could  not  hope  for.  And  now  since  I  have  come  ashoar  I  have 
been  gathering  a  few  sticks  to  warm  me,  a  few  books  to  entertain  my 
thoughts,  and  divert  them  from  the  perpetuall  Meditation  of  my  private 
troubles,  and  the  public  dyscrasy. 

In  company  with  some  other  dispossessed  clergymen, 
he  opened  a  school  at  Newton  Hall  in  Caermarthenshire, 
and  he  gained  a  warm  friend  and  patron  in  the  Earl 
of  Carberry,  who  lived  in  the  neighbourhood;  and  we 
possess  a  full  year's  course  of  beautiful  sermons  which 
Taylor  preached  in  the  Earl's  mansion  of  Golden 
Grove. 

It  was  in  this  retreat  that  Taylor  composed  his 
*  Liberty  of  Prophesying,'  which  some  consider  his 
chief  work,  and  which  was  published  in  1647.  It  is  a 
noble  plea  for  toleration  of  difference  of  opinion  in  matters 
of  religion.  The  mind  of  man  being  what  it  is,  uni- 
formity of  opinion  is  impossible,  and  holiness  of  life  is 
of  far  greater  importance. 

Although  the  Spirit  of  God  did  rest  upon  us  in  divided  tongues,  yet 
so  long  as  those  tongues  were  of  fire,  not  to  kindle  strife,  but  to  warme 
our  affections  and  inflame  our  charities,  we  should  finde  that  this  variety 
of  opinions  in  severall  persons  would  be  look't  upon  as  an  argument 
only  of  diversity  of  operations  while  the  Spirit  is  the  same. 

He  maintains  that  persecution  on  account  of  error  in 
religion  is  not  warranted  by  the  example  of  the  early 
Church,  and  he  quotes  with  approbation  the  saying  of 
Chrysostom : 


JEREMY  TAYLOR  259 

We  ought  to  reprove  and  condemn  impieties  and  heretical  doctrines, 
but  to  spare  the  men,  and  to  pray  for  their  salvation. 

He  closes  this  learned  and  eloquent  work  with  a 
beautiful  parable— 

I  end  with  a  story  which  I  find  in  the  Jews'  books.  When  Abraham 
sat  at  his  tent  door,  according  to  his  custom,  waiting  to  entertain 
strangers,  he  espied  an  old  man  stooping  and  leaning  on  his  staff,  weary 
with  age  and  travel,  coming  towards  him,  who  was  an  hundred  years  of 
age;  he  received  him  kindly,  washed  his  feet,  provided  supper,  and 
caused  him  to  sit  down ;  but  observing  that  the  old  man  ate  and  prayed 
not,  nor  begged  for  a  blessing  on  his  meat,  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
worship  the  God  of  heaven.  The  old  man  told  him  that  he  worshipped 
the  fire  only,  and  acknowledged  no  other  God ;  at  which  answer  Abraham 
grew  so  zealously  angry  that  he  thrust  the  old  man  out  of  his  tent,  and 
exposed  him  to  all  the  evils  of  the  night  and  an  unguarded  condition. 
When  the  old  man  was  gone,  God  called  to  Abraham,  and  asked  him 
where  the  stranger  was.  He  replied, '  I  thrust  him  away  because  he  did 
not  worship  thee.'  God  answered  him,  '  I  have  suffered  him  these 
hundred  years,  although  he  dishonoured  me,  and  couldst  thou  not  endure 
him  one  night,  when  he  gave  thee  no  trouble  ?  '  Upon  which,  saith  the 
story,  Abraham  fetched  him  back  again,  and  gave  him  hospitable  enter- 
tainment and  wise  instruction.  '  Go  thou  and  do  likewise,'  and  thy 
charity  will  be  rewarded  by  the  God  of  Abraham. 

A  little  while  later  appeared  the  work  by  which 
Jeremy  Taylor  will  be  best  remembered — his  'Holy 
Living  and  Dying,'  which  he  composed  at  the  request  of 
the  Countess  of  Carberry.  We  have  room  but  for  a  short 
specimen  of  the  eloquence  and  imagination  with  which 
this  work  is  filled.  In  the  section  on  the  '  Presence  of 
God '  he  says : 

God  is  everywhere  present  by  his  power.  He  rouls  the  orbs  ot 
Heaven  with  his  hand  ;  he  fixes  the  Earth  with  his  foot ;  he  guides  all 
the  Creatures  with  his  eye,  and  refreshes  them  with  his  influence  ;  He 
makes  the  powers  of  Hell  to  shake  with  his  terrors,  and  binds  the 
Devils  with  his  word,  and  throws  them  out  with  his  command ;  and 
sends  the  Angels  on  embassies  with  his  decrees.  He  it  is  that  assists  at 

s2 


260       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  numerous  productions  of  fishes ;  and  there  is  not  one  hollowness  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  but  he  shewes  himself  to  be  Lord  of  it,  by  sus- 
taining there  the  Creatures  that  come  to  dwell  in  it ;  and  in  the  wilder- 
ness the  bittern  and  the  stork,  the  dragon  and  the  satyr,  the  unicorn  and 
the  elk,  live  upon  his  provisions  and  revere  his  power,  and  feel  the  force 
of  his  Almightiness. 

Other  works  were  composed  by  Taylor,  and  for  some 
expressions  in  one  of  these,  so  it  is  thought,  he  suffered 
a  short  imprisonment  during  Cromwell's  Protectorate. 
In  1658,  on  the  invitation  of  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  he 
settled  at  Lisburne  in  the  North  of  Ireland,  living  in  a 
pleasant  retreat  on  the  shores  of  Lough  Neagh. 

When  Charles  II.  became  king,  Taylor  was  made 
Bishop  of  Down  and  Connor  and  Dromore,  and  also 
Vice- Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Dublin.  He  had 
much  trouble  with  the  sturdy  Scotch  Presbyterian  min- 
isters of  Ulster,  but  all  men  revered  his  gentleness  and 
piety.  He  died  in  1667,  and  was  buried  in  Dromore. 
He  was  twice  married,  and  his  sermons  on  *  The  Marriage 
King '  are  among  the  most  beautiful  of  those  which  he 
preached  at  Golden  Grove. 


TWO   PROSE   WRITERS— BURTON,   BROWNE. 

BURTON'S  '  Anatomy  of  Melancholy '  is  one  of  the 
strangest  books  in  English  literature.  At  first  sight  it 
appears  to  be  little  more  than  a  medley  of  quotations 
from  the  classics,  and  from  the  books  of  science  of  the 
early  and  middle  ages.  But  it  is  really  a  work  which 
displays  judgment  and  imagination,  and  it  has  proved  a 
fascinating  book  to  thinkers.  Dr.  Johnson  said  it  was 


ROBERT  BURTON  261 

the  only  book  that  ever  took  him  out  of  bed  two  hours 
sooner  than  he  wished  to  rise. 

The  writer,  Kobert  Burton,  was  born  in  Leicestershire 
in  1576,  was  educated  at  Oxford,  and  in  1599  was  elected 
Student  of  Christ  Church  College.  In  1616  he  was  made 
rector  of  St.  Thomas  in  Oxford,  and  the  rectory  of 
Segrave,  in  his  native  county,  was  also  given  him.  He 
lived  chiefly  at  Oxford  in  the  congenial  society  of  Uni- 
versity men,  and  the  writing  of  the  '  Anatomy  '  was  the 
great  work  of  his  life. 

Wood,  the  antiquarian,  says  of  him  that  he  was 

an  exact  mathematician,  a  curious  calculator  of  nativities,  a  general 
read  scholar,  and  a  thorough-paced  philologist.  As  he  was  by  many 
accounted  a  severe  student,  a  devourer  of  authors,  a  melancholy  and 
humorous  person ;  so  by  others  who  knew  him  well,  a  person  of  great 
honesty,  plain-dealing  and  charity. 

Another  writer  tells  us  that 

he  composed  his  book  with  a  view  of  relieving  his  own  melancholy, 
but  increased  it  to  such  a  degree  that  nothing  could  make  him  laugh 
but  going  to  the  bridge -foot,  and  hearing  the  ribaldry  of  the  bargemen, 
which  rarely  failed  to  throw  him  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter, 

He  died  in  January  1640,  at  about  the  time  calculated 
and  predicted  by  himself,  and 

several  of  the  students  did  not  forbear  to  whisper  among  themselves 
that  rather  than  there  should  be  a  mistake  in  the  calculation,  he  sent  up 
his  soul  to  heaven  through  a  slip  about  his  neck. 

The  author  of  the  '  Anatomy  of  Melancholy '  styles 
himself  Democritus  Junior,  and  in  a  long  address  to  the 
reader  he  compares  himself  to  the  ancient  philosopher 
Democritus  of  Abdera,  whom  he  thus  describes  : 

Democritus  was  a  little  wearyish   olde  man,  very  melancholy  by 
nature,  averse  from  company  in  his  latter  times,  and  much  given  to 


262       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

solitarinesse,  a  famous  Philosopher  in  his  age,  coaevus  with  Socrates, 
wholly  addicted  to  his  studies  at  the  last,  and  to  a  private  life.  He 
knewe  the  natures,  differences  of  all  beasts,  plants,  fishes,  birds  ;  and  as 
some  say,  could  understand  the  tunes  and  voices  of  them.  A  man  of  an 
excellent  wit,  profound  conceit,  and  to  attaine  knowledge  the  better  in  his 
younger  years,  he  travelled  to  Egypt  and  Athens  to  confer  with  learned 
men,  admired  of  some,  despised  of  others.  After  a  wandring  life  hee 
settled  at  Abdera,  a  towne  in  Thrace,  and  was  sent  for  thither  to  be 
their  law  maker,  Recorder,  or  Towne  Clearke  as  some  will ;  or  as  others 
he  was  there  bred  and  borne.  There  hee  lived  at  last  in  a  garden  in  the 
suburbs,  wholy  betaking  him  to  his  studies  and  a  private  life,  saving  that 
sometimes  hee  would  walke  downe  to  the  haven,  and  laugh  hartely  at 
such  variety  of  ridiculous  objects  which  there  he  saw. 

Then  the  author  describes  himself — 

I  have  liv'd  a  silent,  sedentary,  solitary  private  life  in  the  University, 
as  long  almost  as  Xenocrates  in  Athens  to  learn  wisdom  as  he  did,  penned 
up  most  part  in  my  study.  I  have  been  brought  up  a  student  in  the 
most  flourishing  college  in  Europe  ;  for  thirty  years  I  have  continued  a 
scholar,  and  would  be  therefore  loth,  either  by  living  as  a  drone,  to  be 
an  unprofitable  or  unworthy  member  of  so  noble  and  learned  a  society, 
or  to  write  that  which  should  be  in  any  way  dishonourable  to  such  a 
royal  and  ample  foundation. 

I  have  confusedly  tumbled  over  divers  authors  in  our  libraries  with 
small  profit  for  want  of  art,  order,  memory,  judgement.  I  never 
travelled  but  in  map  or  card,  in  which  my  uncontined  thoughts  have 
freely  expatiated  as  having  ever  beene  especially  delighted  with  the 
study  of  Cosmography. 

I  live  still  a  collegiate  student,  as  Democritus  in  his  garden,  and  lead 
a  monastic  life  sequestered  from  those  tumults  and  troubles  of  the 
world,  and  in  some  high  place  above  you  all,  I  hear  and  see  what  is  done 
abroad,  how  others  run,  ride,  turmoil  and  macerate  themselves  in  court 
and  country.  I  laugh  at  all,  only  secure  lest  my  suit  go  amiss,  my  ships 
perish,  corn  and  cattle  miscarry,  trade  decay,  I  have  no  wife  nor  children 

good  or  bad  to  provide  for. 

(• 

He  thinks  that  he  may  well  be  melancholy  since  the 
whole  world  is  mad — 

Charon  was  conducted  by  Mercury  to  a  place  where  hee  might  see  all 
the  world  at  once ;  after  hee  had  sufficiently  vewed  and  looked  about, 


ROBERT  BURTON  263 

Mercury  would  needs  know  of  him  what  he  had  observed.  Hee  told 
him  that  hee  saw  a  vast  multitude  and  a  promiscuous,  their  habita- 
tions like  mole-hills,  the  men  as  emmets ;  hee  could  discern  cities  like  so 
many  hives  of  bees,  wherein  every  Bee  had  a  sting,  and  they  did  naught 
else  but  sting  one  another,  some  domineering  like  Hornets  bigger  then 
the  rest,  some  like  niching  Wasps,  others  as  Drones.  Over  their  heads 
were  hovering  a  confused  company  of  perturbations,  hope,  feare,  anger, 
avarice,  ignorance,  and  a  multitude  of  diseases  hanging  which  they  still 
pulled  on  their  heads.  In  conclusion  he  condemned  them  all  for  mad- 
men, fooles,  idiots,  asses.  O  fooles  !  0  madmen  !  he  exclaimes.  Mad 
indeavours,  mad  actions,  mad,  mad,  mad,  a  giddy -headed  age. 

Heraclrfcus  the  Philosopher  out  of  a  serious  meditation  of  men's 
lives  fell  a  weeping,  and  with  continuall  teares  bewailed  their  miseries, 
madnesse  and  folly.  Democritus  on  the  other  side  burst  out  a  laughing, 
their  whole  life  seemed  to  him  so  ridiculous,  and  hee  was  so  far  carried 
with  this  ironical  passion  that  the  citizens  of  Abdera  took  him  to  be 
mad,  and  sent  therefore  Embassadors  to  Hippocrates  the  physician  that 
he  would  exercise  his  skill  upon  him. 

In  the  body  of  his  work  Burton  gives  a  minute  but 
fanciful  description  of  the  organs  of  the  human  body. 
He  speaks  thus  of  the  heart : 

The  sonne  of  our  body,  the  king  and  sole  commander  of  it,  the  seat 
and  organe  of  all  passions  and  affections.  Primum  vivens  ultimum 
moriens,  it  lives  first  and  dies  last  in  all  creatures.  Of  a  paramidicall 
forme  and  not  much  unlike  to  a  Pineapple ;  a  part  worthy  of  admiration, 
that  can  yeeld  such  variety  of  affections,  by  whose  motion  he  is  dilated 
or  contracted,  to  stirre  and  command  the  humours  in  the  body.  As  in 
sorrow,  melancholy ;  in  anger,  choler ;  in  joy,  to  send  the  blood  out- 
wardly ;  in  sorrowe  to  call  it  in ;  mooving  the  humours  as  horses  doe  a 
chariot. 

Among  the  many  causes  of  melancholy,  Burton  con- 
siders devils  to  be  perhaps  the  most  potent,  and  he 
lavishes  his  stores  of  learning  in  describing  their  nature 
and  habits : 

Concerning  the  first  beginning  of  them  the  Thalmudists  say  that 
Adam  had  a  wife  called  Lilis,  before  he  married  Eve,  and  of  her  hee  begat 
nothing  but  divels.  Not  so  much  as  an  haire  breadth  empty  in  heaven, 


264       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

earth  or  waters,  above  or  under* the  earth.  The  earth  is  not  so  full  oi 
flies  in  summer  as  it  is  at  all  times  of  invisible  Divels.  Aeriall  divels 
are  such  as  keepe  quarter  most  part  in  the  ayre,  cause  many  tempests, 
thunder  and  lightnings,  teare  Okes,  tire  Steeples,  Houses,  strike  Men  and 
Beasts,  make  it  rain  stones,  as  in  Livy's  time,  wool,  frogges,  etc.  They 
cause  whirlwinds  on  a  sudden,  and  tempestuous  storms ;  which  though 
our  meteorologists  generally  refer  to  natural  causes,  yet  I  am  of 
Bodine's  mind  they  are  more  often  caused  by  those  aeriall  divels. 

Terrestriall  divels  are  those  Lares,  Genii,  Faunes,  Satyrs,  Wood- 
nymphs,  Foliots,  Fairies,  Robin  Goodfellows,  Trulli,  etc.,  which  as 
they  are  most  conversant  with  men  so  they  doe  them  most  harme. 
These  are  they  that  dance  on  heaths  and  greenes,  and  leave  that  green 
circle  which  we  commonly  find  in  plain  fields,  which  others  hold  to  pro- 
ceed from  a  meteor  falling,  or  some  accidental  rankness  of  the  ground, 
so  nature  sports  herself ;  they  are  sometimes  scene  by  old  women  and 
children. 

Another  kinde  there  are  which  frequent  forlorne  houses ;  they  will 
make  strange  noyses  in  the  night,  howl  sometimes  pitifully,  and  then 
laugh  again,  cause  great  flame  and  sudden  lights,  fling  stones,  rattle 
chaines,  shave  men,  open  doors  and  shut  them,  fling  downe  platters, 
stooles,  chests,  sometimes  appeare  in  the  likenesse  of  hares,  crows,  black 
dogges,  etc. 

Burton  has  prefixed  to  his  work  several  short  poems, 
and  one  of  these,  in  its  alternate  stanzas  of  praise  and 
dispraise  of  melancholy,  appears  to  have  suggested  to 
Milton  the  idea  of  his  twin  poems  of  '  L'Allegro '  and  *  II 
Penseroso.'  We  have  room  but  for  one  pair  of  stanzas — 

Melhinks  I  hear,  methinks  I  see 
Sweet  music,  wondrous  melody, 
Towns,  palaces,  and  cities  fine  ; 
Here  now,  then  there ;  the  world  is  mine  ; 
Rare  beauties,  gallant  ladies  shine, 
Whate'er  is  lovely  or  divine. 

All  other  joys  to  this  are  folly, 

None  so  sweet  as  melancholy. 

Methinks  I  hear,  methinks  I  see 
Ghosts,  goblins,  fiends  ;  my  fantasy 


THOMAS  BROWNE  265 

Presents  a  thousand  ugly  shapes, 
Headless  bears,  black  men  and  apes, 
Doleful  outcries,  and  fearful  sights, 
My  sad  and  dismal  soul  affrights. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly, 

None  so  damned  as  melancholy. 

Sir  Thomas  Browne  had  many  points  of  resem- 
blance to  Burton.  They  were  both  among  the  most 
learned  men  of  the  time,  both  took  a  pleasure  in  pursu- 
ing abstruse  and  out-of-the-way  trains  of  thought,  and 
the  language  of  both  is  quaint,  and  is  lit  with  gleams  of 
fancy  and  imagination. 

Sir  Thomas  Browne  was  born  in  London  in  1605, 
was  educated  at  Winchester  School,  and  afterwards  at 
Oxford,  and  when  his  college  course  was  finished  he 
gave  himself  up  to  the  study  and  practice  of  medicine. 
He  travelled  into  France,  Italy  and  the  Netherlands, 
and  received  a  doctor's  degree  at  Ley  den  about  1633. 
He  then  returned  to  England,  and  in  retirement  in 
Yorkshire  he  wrote  his  first  and  best  work,  the  '  Eeligio 
Medici.'  He  tells  us  it  was  a  work  composed  at  leisure 
hours  for  his  private  exercise  and  satisfaction,  and  only 
by  accident  did  it  get  abroad  some  half  a  dozen  years 
later,  in  1642.  It  then  became  quickly  famous — was 
translated  into  Latin,  Italian,  and  German ;  and  no  less 
than  eleven  English  editions  were  published  during  the 
author's  lifetime. 

The  design  of  the  work  is  to  show  that  a  philsopher 
and  man  of  science  may  yet  be  a  pious  Christian — 

For  my  Religion,  though  there  be  several  circumstances  that  might 
persuade  the  World  I  have  none  at  all— as  the  general  scandal  of  my 
Profession,  the  natural  course  of  my  Studies,  the  indifferency  of  my 
behaviour  and  discourse  in  matters  of  Religion  (neither  violently  defend 


266       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

ing  one  nor  with  that  common  ardour  and  contention  opposing  another), 
yet  in  despight  hereof  I  dare  without  usurpation  assume  the  honourable 
style  of  a  Christian. 

Not  that  I  meerly  owe  this  title  to  the  font,  my  education,  or  the 
clime  wherein  I  was  born ;  but  that  having,  in  my  riper  years  and  con- 
firmed judgement,  seen  and  examined  all,  I  find  myself  obliged  by  the 
principles  of  grace,  and  the  law  of  mine  own  reason,  to  embrace  no  other 
name  but  this ;  neither  doth  herein  my  zeal  so  far  make  me  forget  the 
general  charity  I  owe  unto  humanity,  as  rather  to  hate  than  pity  Turks, 
Infidels,  and  (what  is  more)  Jews ;  rather  contenting  myself  to  enjoy 
that  happy  style,  than  maligning  those  who  refuse  so  glorious  a  title. 

The  mysteries  of  religion,  which  have  staggered  the 
faith  of  some,  present  no  difficulties  to  him— 

Methinks  there  be  not  impossibilities  enough  in  Religion  for  an  active 
faith ;  the  deepest  Mysteries  ours  contains  have  not  only  been  illustrated, 
but  maintained  by  syllogism  and  the  rule  of  reason.  I  love  to  lose  my- 
self in  a  mystery ;  to  pursue  my  reason  to  an  O  Altitttdo !  'Tis  my 
solitary  recreation  to  pose  my  apprehension  with  those  involved  enigmas 
and  riddles  of  the  Trinity,  Incarnation,  and  Resurrection.  I  can  answer 
all  the  objections  of  Satan  and  my  rebellious  reason  with  that  odd  reso- 
lution I  learned  of  Tertullian—  Certum  est  quia  impossibile  est.  I 
desire  to  exercise  my  faith  in  the  difficultest  point ;  for  to  credit  ordinary 
and  visible  objects  is  not  faith,  but  persuasion. 

Some  believe  the  better  for  seeing  Christ's  sepulchre ;  and  when  they 
have  seen  the  Red  Sea  doubt  not  of  the  miracle.  Now  contrarily  I  bless 
myself  and  am  thankful  that  I  live  not  in  the  days  of  miracles ;  that  I 
never  saw  Christ  nor  his  disciples.  I  would  not  have  been  one  of  those 
Israelites  that  passed  the  Red  Sea ;  nor  one  of  Christ's  patients  on  whom 
he  wrought  his  wonders  :  then  had  my  faith  been  thrust  upon  me ;  nor 
should  I  enjoy  that  greater  blessing  pronounced  to  all  that  believe  and 
saw  not.  'Tis  an  easy  and  necessary  belief  to  credit  what  our  eye  and 
sense  hath  examined.  I  believe  he  was  dead  and  buried,  and  rose  again ; 
and  desire  to  see  him  in  his  glory  rather  than  to  contemplate  him  in  his 
cenotaphe  or  sepulchre. 

Browne  now  settled  as  a  physician  at  Norwich,  and 
there  he  passed  the  rest  of  his  long  and  honourable  life. 
In  his  '  Eeligio  *  he  had.  spoken  rather  slightingly  of 
marriage,  and  had  wished  that  the  race  of  man  might 


S7/?   THOMAS  BROWNE  267 

be  propagated  like  trees,  but  he  now  married  a  lady 
with  whom  he  lived  happily  for  more  than  forty  years, 
and  he  had  a  large  family  of  sons  and  daughters.  He 
corresponded  with  and  was  visited  by  some  of  the  most 
learned  men  of  the  time,  and  'his  whole  house  and 
garden  were  a  paradise  and  cabinet  of  varieties,  and 
that  of  the  best  collections,  especially  medals,  books, 
plants  and  natural  things.'  In  1671  Charles  II.  visited 
Norwich,  and  conferred  upon  him  the  well-deserved 
honour  of  knighthood.  He  died  in  October  1682. 

During  his  life  at  Norwich  he  wrote  a  number  of 
works,  of  which  the  chief  were  *  Enquiries  into  Vulgar 
Errors,'  <  The  Garden  of  Cyrus,'  and  '  Urn  Burial.'  The 
first  of  these  works  shows  great  learning  and  research, 
and  it  is  a  curious  collection  and  discussion  of  popular 
errors,  such  as  that  '  Crystal  is  nothing  else  but  ice 
strongly  congealed,'  that  '  elephants  have  no  joints/ 
that  '  the  salamander  lives  in  the  fire,'  and  others  of 
like  nature.  It  was,  no  doubt,  in  its  time  a  valuable 
contribution  to  science,  but  its  methods  and  results 
have  been  long  obsolete.  The  '  Hydriotaphia,  or  Urn 
Burial '  was  suggested  by  the  discovery  in  1656  of  some 
ancient  urns  at  Norwich,  and  the  work  contains  some  of 
the  author's  most  eloquent  passages — 

The  treasures  of  time  lie  high,  in  Urns,  Coyns,  and  Monuments, 
scarce  below  the  roots  of  some  Vegetables.  Time  hath  endless  rarities, 
and  shows  of  all  varieties,  which  reveals  old  things  in  Heaven,  makes 
new  discoveries  in  Earth,  and  even  Earth  itself  a  discovery.  That  great 
Antiquity  America  lay  buried  for  thousands  of  years,  and  a  large  part  of 
the  Earth  is  still  in  the  Urn  unto  us. 

Near  the  close  of  the  work  he  discusses  the  longing 
of  mankind  to  escape  oblivion — 


268        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

A  great  part  of  Antiquity  contented  their  hopes  of  subsistency  with  a 
transmigration  of  their  Souls — a  good  way  to  continue  their  memories, 
while  having  the  advantage  of  plural  successions,  they  could  not  but  act 
something  remarkable  in  such  variety  of  beings,  and  enjoying  the  fame 
of  their  passed  selves  make  accumulation  of  Glory  unto  their  last 
durations. 

Egyptian  ingenuity  was  more  unsatisfied,  contriving  their  bodies  in 
sweet  consistencies,  to  attend  the  return  of  their  Souls.  But  all  was 
vanity,  feeding  the  wind,  and  folly.  The  Egyptian  mummies  which 
Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth.  Mummy  is 
become  merchandise,  Misraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for 
balsams. 


JOHN    MILTON. 

MILTON,  our  greatest  poet  next  to  Shakspere,  was,  like  his 
great  predecessors  Chaucer  and  Spenser,  horn  in  London. 
His  forefathers  were  landed  proprietors  at  Milton,  in 
Oxfordshire  ;  but  the  poet's  father  was  a  London  scrive- 
ner or  solicitor  carrying  on  a  prosperous  business  in 
Bread  Street,  Cheapside,  and  taking  also  great  delight 
in  music.  His  son  John  was  born  in  December  1608 ; 
was  sent  in  course  of  time  to  St.  Paul's  School,  where  he 
was  happy  with  his  tutors  ;  and  in  1624  he  went  to  Cam- 
bridge. Here  his  course  was  not  so  peaceful,  and  for 
some  unexplained  reason  he  was  rusticated  for  a  time. 
He  returned  and  took  his  degrees  in  regular  course,  but 
in  later  years  he  does  not  seem  to  have  looked  back  with 
feelings  of  love  upon  his  University.  He  had  intended  to 
enter  the  Church,  but  scruples  as  to  subscription  pre- 
vented him,  and 

he  thought  it  better  to  prefer  a  blameless  silence  before  the  office  of 
speaking,  bought  and  begun  with  servitude  and  forswearing. 


JOHN  MILTON  269 

He  left  Cambridge  in  1632,  and  came  to  live  at 
fiorton,  the  pleasant  Buckinghamshire  village  to  which 
his  father  had  retired.  Here  he  spent  five  years  of 
studious  seclusion  and  meditation,  and  some  of  his 
friends  feared  that  he  '  had  given  himself  up  to  dream 
away  his  years  in  the  arms  of  studious  retirement  like 
Endmyion  with  the  moon  on  Latmus  Hill.'  To  these 
friends  he  sent  in  answer  a  beautiful  sonnet  in  which 
mingled  with  some  feelings  of  sadness  there  is  expressed 
the  steady  conviction  that  his  time  is  not  being  wasted — 

How  soon  hath  Time,  the  suttle  theef  of  youth 
Stol'n  on  his  wing  my  three -and-twentith  yeer ! 
My  hasting  dayes  flie  on  with  full  career, 

But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th. 

Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth 
That  I  to  manhood  am  arived  so  near, 
And  inward  ripenes  doth  much  less  appear, 

That  som  more  timely-happy  spirits  endu'th. 

Yet,  be  it  less  or  more,  or  soon  or  slow, 
It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even 
To  that  same  lot,  however  mean  or  high, 

Towards  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will  of  Heaven. 
All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so, 
As  ever  in  my  great  Task-master's  eye. 

'  Milton's  life  is  a  drama  in  three  acts.  The  first  dis- 
covers him  in  the  calm  and  peaceful  retirement  of  Hor- 
ton,  of  which  "  L' Allegro,"  "II  Penseroso,"  and  "Lyci- 
das  "  are  the  expression.  In  the  second  act  he  is  breathing 
the  foul  and  heated  atmosphere  of  party  passion  and 
religious  hate,  generating  the  lurid  fires  which  glare  in 
the  battailous  canticles  of  his  prose  pamphlets.  The  three 
great  poems  "Paradise  Lost,"  "Paradise  Kegained," 
and  "  Samson  Agonist es  "  are  the  utterance  of  his  final 
period  of  solitary  and  Promethean  grandeur,  when,  blind 


270       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

destitute,  friendless,  he  testified  of  righteousness,  tempe- 
rance, and  judgment  to  come,  alone  before  a  fallen 
world.' » 

To  this  early  period  belongs  Milton's  beautiful  *  Mask 
of  Comus/  which  he  wrote  at  the  invitation  of  his  friend 
Henry  Lawes,  at  that  time  the  most  celebrated  musical 
composer  in  England.  The  masque  was  performed  in 
1634  at  Ludlow  Castle,  at  an  entertainment  in  honour 
of  the  Earl  of  Bridgwater,  the  Lord  President  of  Wales, 
and  the  two  sons  and  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  were  the 
chief  performers,  while  Henry  Lawes  himself  took  the 
part  of  the  attendant  spirit. 

The  poem  abounds  in  beautiful  passages,  of  which  one 
or  two  may  be  extracted.  The  wicked  spirit  Comus 
deludes  the  lady  with  a  false  report  of  having  seen  her 
brothers — 

Two  such  I  saw,  what  time  the  laboured  Oxe 

In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came, 

And  the  swinkt  hedger  at  his  Supper  sate ; 

I  saw  them  under  a  green  mantling  vine 

That  crawls  along  the  side  of  yon  small  hill, 

Plucking  ripe  clusters  from  the  tender  shoots ; 

Their  port  was  more  than  human  as  they  stood : 

I  took  it  for  a  faery  vision 

Of  som  gay  creatures  of  the  element, 

That  in  the  colours  of  the  Eainbow  live, 

And  play  i'  th'  plighted  clouds.     I  was  aw-struck, 

And  as  I  past  I  worshipt. 

A  little  later  in  the  poem  the  elder  brother  stills  the 
anxious  fears  of  the  younger  with  the  expression  of  his 
calm  confidence  that  their  sister  is  safe  — 

1  Mark  Pattison. 


JOHN  MILTON  271 

Wisdom's  self 

Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  Solitude, 
Where  with  her  best  nurse  Contemplation 
She  plumes  her  feathers,  and  lets  grow  her  wings, 
That  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort 
Were  all  to  ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired. 
He  that  has  light  within  his  own  cleer  brest 
May  sit  i'  th'  center,  and  enjoy  bright  day : 
But  he  that  hides  a  dark  soul,  and  foul  thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  Sun ; 
Himself  is  his  own  dungeon. 

In  the  close  of  the  poem  the  song  of  the  attendant 
spirit  compares  in  beauty  with  Ariel's  song  in  the  '  Tem- 
pest,' though  it  lacks  the  sweet  simplicity  of  the  original — 

To  the  Ocean  now  I  fly 

And  those  happy  climes  that  ly 

Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 

Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky : 

There  I  suck  the  liquid  ayr 

All  amidst  the  Gardens  fair 

Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 

That  sing  about  the  golden  tree. 

The  exact  date  of  the  composition  of  '  L' Allegro'  and 
*  II  Penseroso '  is  not  known ;  but  they  belong  to  this 
period.  *  The  two  idyls  breathe  the  free  air  of  spring 
and  summer,  and  of  the  fields  round  Horton.  They  are 
thoroughly  naturalistic ;  the  choicest  expression  our 
language  has  yet  found  of  the  fresh  charm  of  country 
life,  not  as  that  life  is  lived  by  the  peasant,  but  as  it  is 
felt  by  a  young  and  lettered  student,  issuing  at  early 
dawn,  or  at  sunset,  into  the  fields  from  his  chamber  and 
his  books.' l  Both  poems  are  very  beautiful,  but  Milton 
probably  reveals  himself  more  truly  in  'II  Penseroso.' 

1  Mark  Pattison. 


272       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

'  No  mirth,'  says  Johnson,  '  can,  indeed,  be  found  in  his 
melancholy ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  I  always  meet  some 
melancholy  in  his  mirth.' 

What  picture  could  be  finer  than  that  of  Milton's 
lonely  midnight  studies  ? 

Or  let  my  Lamp  at  midnight  hour, 
Be  seen  in  som  high  lonely  Towr, 
Where  I  may  out-watch  the  Bear, 
With  thrice  great  Hermes,  or  unsphear 
The  spirit  of  Plato  to  unfold 
What  Worlds,  or  what  vast  Regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook. 
Somtime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine, 
Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskind  stage. 

His  picture  of  the  nightingale  and  of  the  midnight 
moon  is  also  very  beautiful- 
Sweet  bird  that  shun'st  the  noise  of  folly, 
Most  musical,  most  melancholy! 
The  chauntress  of  the  woods  among 
I  woo  to  hear  thy  even  song ; 
And  missing  thee  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry  smooth  shaven  green, 
To  behold  the  wand'ring  Moon 
Biding  neer  her  highest  noon, 
Like  one  that  hath  bin  led  astray 
Through  the  Heaven's  wide  pathles  way, 
And  oft  as  if  her  head  she  bowed 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

The  poem  of  '  Lycidas '  belongs  to  1637,  and  was 
occasioned  by  the  drowning  of  Milton's  dear  friend  and 
college  companion  Edward  King  while  he  was  crossing 


JOHN  MILTON  273 

the  Irish  Sea.    Johnson  found  little  beauty  in  '  Lycidas.' 
*  It  is  not  to  be  considered  as  the  effusion  of  real  passion, 
for  passion  runs  not  after  remote  allusions  and  obscure 
opinions.      Passion  plucks  no  berries  from  the  myrtle 
and  ivy,  nor  calls  upon  Arethusa  and  Mincius,  nor  tells 
of  rough   satyrs  and  fauns  with   cloven  feet.     Where 
there  is  leisure  for  fiction  there  is  little  grief.'     It  is  true 
that  the  poem  is  impaired  rather  than  strengthened  by 
its  conventional  symbolism,  but  it  abounds  in  splendid 
lines,  and  Euskin  has  shown  in  l  Sesame  and  Lilies '  the 
wonderful  concentration  of  force  and  meaning  in  the  pas- 
sage describing  St.  Peter  'the  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake.' 
The  poem  closes  with  lines  of  great  beauty  and  pathos- 
Weep  no  more,  woful  Shepherds,  weep  no  more, 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  not  dead, 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watry  floar ; 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  Ocean  bed, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  Ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high, 
Through  the  dear  might  of  him  that  walk'd  the  waves 
Where  other  groves  and  other  streams  along 
With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves, 
And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptiall  song, 
In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 

Soon  after  writing  '  Lycidas '  Milton  visited  Italy, 
but  the  memorials  of  his  visit  to  this  land  of  beauty  and 
song  are  scanty,  and  its  influence  upon  his  genius  appears 
to  have  been  slight.  He  met  Galileo  just  liberated  from 
imprisonment,  and  he  received  compliments  from  the 
literary  men  of  Florence,  and  in  August  1639  he  was 
once  more  in  England  after  an  absence  of  fifteen  months. 

From  this  time  till  his  death  he  lived  in  London,  and 

T 


274       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

his  various  residences  have  been  recorded.  At  first  he 
lived  in  St.  Bride's  Churchyard  in  Fleet  Street,  then  at 
a  pretty  garden  house  in  Alder sgate,  then  in  the  Barbi- 
can, then  in  a  house  in  Holborn  opening  upon  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,  then  in  Petty  France,  Westminster,  with 
access  to  St.  James's  Park  ;  and  there  he  lived  from  1652 
to  1660.  After  the  Restoration  he  returned  again  to 
Holborn  and  Aldersgate,  and  the  last  years  of  his  life 
were  spent  in  Artillery  Walk,  Bunhill  Fields.  We  are 
told  that  he  hastened  home  from  Italy  because  of  the 
political  troubles  that  were  rising  in  England,  and  Dr. 
Johnson  makes  merry  over  the  fact  that  Milton,  instead 
of  saving  the  State,  busied  himself  in  teaching,  first  his 
two  nephews  and  then  other  sons  of  gentlemen.  To  this 
part  of  Milton's  life-experience  we  owe  his '  Letter  on  Edu- 
cation,' addressed  to  the  educational  reformer  Hartlib. 

To  this  period,  too,  belongs  Milton's  first  and  unfor- 
tunate marriage,  that  with  Mary  Powell,  a  young  lady  so 
different  from  himself  in  age  and  taste  and  education. 
His  young  wife  left  him  soon,  and  would  not  return,  and 
he  thereupon  wrote  his  fierce  pamphlets  on  divorce, 
addressing  them  to  the  Parliament.  His  wife's  final 
submission  and  reconciliation  seem  to  be  described  in 
'  Paradise  Lost,'  where  the  repentant  Eve  seeks  comfort 
and  forgiveness  from  Adam — 

She  ended  weeping,  and  her  lowlie  plight 
Immoveable  till  peace  obtain'd  from  fault 
Acknowledg'd  and  deplor'd,  in  Adam  wraught 
Commiseration  ;  soon  his  heart  relented 
Towards  her,  his  life  so  late  and  sole  delight, 
Now  at  his  feet  submissive  in  distress, 
Creature  so  faire  his  reconcilement  seeking 


JOHN  MILTON  275 

His  counsel,  whom  she  had  Displeased,  his  aide 

As  one  disarm'd,  his  anger  all  he  lost, 

And  thus  with  peaceful  words  upraised  her  soon. 

Milton  was  thrice  married,  and  he  had  a  family  of 
daughters ;  but  his  relations  with  them  were  not  all 
pleasant,  and  the  surly  Johnson  says  :  *  His  family  con- 
sisted of  women ;  and  there  appears  in  his  books  some- 
thing like  a  Turkish  contempt  of  females  as  subordinate 
and  inferior  beings.  He  thought  women  made  only  for 
obedience,  and  man  only  for  rebellion.' 

Though  Milton  did  not  at  once  throw  himself  into 
the  thick  of  the  political  strife,  he  did  not  keep  silence 
long.  In  1641  he  wrote  two  pamphlets  on  '  Keforma- 
tion  in  England  and  the  causes  that  hitherto  have 
hindered  it.'  In  the  same  year  he  wrote  a  pamphlet  on 
'  Prelatical  Episcopacy,  and  whether  it  may  be  deduced 
from  Apostolic  Times/  and  he  followed  this  up  with  '  The 
Eeason  of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty,' 
and  in  these  pamphlets  he  made  fierce  onslaughts  upon 
the  bishops,  as  in  the  following  passage : 

I  cannot  better  liken  the  state  and  person  of  a  King  than  to  that 
mighty  Nazarite  Sampson ;  who  being  disciplin'd  from  his  Birth  in  the 
Precepts  and  the  Practice  of  Temperance  and  Sobriety,  without  the 
strong  Drink  of  injurious  and  excessive  Desires,  grows  up  to  a  noble 
Strength  and  Perfection  with  those  his  illustrious  and  sunny  Locks  the 
Laws,  waving  and  curling  about  his  Godlike  Shoulders.  And  while  he 
keeps  them  about  him  undiminish'd  and  unshorn,  he  may  with  the 
Jawbone  of  an  Ass,  that  is  with  the  word  of  his  meanest  Officer,  suppress 
and  put  to  Confusion  Thousands  of  those  that  rise  against  his  just 
Power. 

But  laying  down  his  Head  among  the  strumpet  flatteries  of  Prelates, 
while  he  sleeps  and  thinks  no  harm,  they  wickedly  shaving  off  all  those 
bright  and  weighty  Tresses  of  his  Laws,  and  just  Prerogatives  which 
were  his  Ornament  and  Strength,  deliver  him  over  to  indirect  and  violent 

T2 


276       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Counsels,  which  as  those  Philistins  put  out  the  fair  and  far-sighted 
Eyes  of  his  natural  discerning,  and  make  him  grind  in  the  Prison  House 
of  their  sinister  Ends  and  Practices  upon  him.  Till  he  knowing  this 
prelatical  Rasor  to  have  bereft  him  of  his  wonted  Might,  nourish  again 
his  puissant  Hair,  the  golden  Beams  of  Law  and  Right ;  and  they  sternly 
shook,  thunder  with  ruin  upon  the  Heads  of  those  his  Evil  Councellors, 
but  not  without  great  Affliction  to  himself. 

In  1644  Milton  addressed  to  Parliament  his  famous 
*  Areopagitica,'  a  speech  for  the  liberty  of  unlicensed 
printing,  from  which  a  single  passage  may  be  extracted— 

Lords  and  Commons  of  England  !  consider  what  nation  it  is  wherof 
ye  are,  and  wherof  ye  are  the  governours ;  a  Nation  not  slow  and  dull,  but 
of  a  quick,  ingenious  and  piercing  spirit,  acute  to  invent,  suttle  and 
sinewy  to  discours,  not  beneath  the  reach  of  any  point  the  highest  that 
human  capacity  can  soar  to. 

Behold  now  this  vast  City ;  a  city  of  refuge,  the  mansion  house  of 
liberty,  encompast  and  surrounded  with  God's  protection ;  the  shop  of 
warre  hath  not  there  more  anvils  and  hammers  waking  to  fashion  out 
the  plates  and  instruments  of  armed  justice  in  defence  of  beleagured 
truth,  then  there  be  pens  and  heads  there,  sitting  by  their  studious  lamps, 
musing,  searching,  revolving  new  notions  and  ideas  wherewith  to  present, 
as  with  their  homage  and  their  fealty,  the  approaching  Reformation; 
others  as  fast  reading,  trying  all  things,  assenting  to  the  force  of  reason 
and  convincement. 

In  1649,  after  the  execution  of  Charles,  Milton 
accepted  the  post  of  Latin  secretary  to  the  new  Govern- 
ment, and  he  held  the  office  till  the  Eestoration.  In 
addition  to  his  Latin  letters,  he  wrote  during  this  period 
several  Latin  works  in  defence  of  the  Government,  but 
these  now  add  but  little  to  his  fame.  The  two  fine 
sonnets  on  '  The  Lord  General  Cromwell '  and  on  *  The 
Late  Massacre  in  Piemont '  are  far  nobler  memorials  of 
the  time. 

The  great  calamity  of  blindness  which  for  years  had 
been  threatening  Milton  now  fell  upon  him.  About 


JOHN  MILTON  277 

1650  the  sight  of  his  left  eye  was  gone,  and  two  years 
later  he  was  in  total  darkness.  In  several  places  in  his 
later  works  he  pathetically  laments  his  loss — 

Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return,  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  Even  or  Morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  Summers  Bose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine ; 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 
Surrounds  me,  from  the  chearful  waies  of  men 
Cut  off,  and  for  the  Book  of  knowledg  fair 
Presented  with  a  Universal  blanc 
Of  Natures  works  to  mee  expung'd  and  ras'd, 
And  wisdome  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

The  crowning  glory  of  Milton's  life,  the  '  Paradise 
Lost,'  was  commenced,  it  would  seem,  about  1658,  but 
it  was  conceived  much  earlier.  In  1641  Milton  promises 
his  readers  some  work,  he  as  yet  knows  not  what — 

to  be  obtained  not  by  the  invocation  of  Dame  Memory  and  her  siren 
daughters,  but  by  devout  prayer  to  that  Eternal  Spirit  who  can  enrich 
with  all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  seraphim  with  the 
hallowed  fire  of  his  altar  to  touch  and  purify  the  life  of  whom  he 
pleases. 

For  a  time  it  was  in  his  mind  to  take  the  story  of 
King  Arthur  for  a  subject,  and  when  he  fixed  upon  the 
'  Fall  of  man  '  he  at  first  purposed  treating  it  in  the  form 
of  a  drama  or  mystery,  and  a  rough  sketch  of  this  drama 
is  still  existing.  At  length  the  form  was  finally  deter- 
mined on,  and  the  work  proceeded  smoothly,  and  was 
finished  and  published  in  1667. 

Milton  has  been  greatly  praised,  both  for  his  choice 
of  a  subject  and  for  his  treatment  of  it.  Hallam  says, 
*The  subject  is  the  finest  that  has  ever  been  chosen 


278       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

for  heroic  poetry ;  it  is  also  managed  by  Milton  with 
remarkable  skill,'  and.  he  maintains  its  superiority  in 
these  respects  to  Homer's  *  Iliad'  and  'Odyssey,'  to 
Virgil's  '  ^Eneid,'  and  to  Tasso's  '  Jerusalem  Delivered.' 

On  the  other  hand,  we  feel  it  to  be  a  terrible  disadvan- 
tage that  so  much  of  the  poem  deals  with  unrealities,  lack- 
ing human  interest  or  probability,  and  Carlyle  speaks  of 
'  the  supernatural  lumber  of  the  concrete-abstract,  evan- 
gelical-metaphysical gods  of  "  Paradise  Lost." '  Goethe, 
still  more  severely,  declares  the  subject  of  *  Paradise 
Lost '  to  be  '  abominable,  with  a  fair  outside  but  rotten 
inwardly.' 

Perhaps  Milton's  surest  excellence  is  the  unbroken 
majesty  of  his  style.  For  this  above  all  things  Matthew 
Arnold  praises  him.  '  In  the  sure  and  flawless  perfec- 
tion of  his  rhythm  and  diction  he  is  as  admirable  as 
Virgil  or  Dante,  and  in  this  respect  he  is  unique  amongst 
us.  No  one  else  in  English  literature  and  art  possesses 
the  like  distinction.' 

So  to  the  same  effect  speaks  Hazlitt.  '  Force  of 
style  is  one  of  Milton's  greatest  excellences.  Hence 
perhaps  he  stimulates  us  more  in  the  reading  and  less 
afterwards.  The  way  to  defend  Milton  against  all  im- 
pugners  is  to  take  down  the  book  and  read  it.  Milton 
always  labours,  and  he  almost  always  succeeds.  He 
strives  hard  to  say  the  finest  things  in  the  world,  and  he 
does  say  them.  The  two  first  books  alone  are  like  two 
massy  pillars  of  solid  gold.' 

Among  the  many  beauties  of  the  first  book  are  to  be 
reckoned  the  expressive  similes,  such  as  that  of  Satan's 
glowing  shield — 


JOHN  MILTON  279 

Massy,  large  and  round 
Behind  him  cast ;  the  broad  circumference 
Hung  ons  his  houlders  like  the  Moon,  whose  Orb 
Through  Optic  Glass  the  Tuscan  Artist  views 
At  evening  from  the  top  of  Fesole, 
Or  in  Valdarno,  to  descry  new  Lands, 
Rivers  or  Mountains  in  her  spotty  Globe. 

So  too  that  of  the  fallen  angels  lying  prone  on  the 
flood- 

His  Legions  Angel  Forms,  who  lay  entrans't 
Thick  as  Autumnal  Leaves  that  strow  the  Brooks 
In  Vallombrosa,  where  th'  Etrurian  shades 
High  overarch't  embower ;  or  scatter'd  sedge 
Afloat,  when  with  fierce  Winds  Orion  armed 
Hath  vext  the  Ked  Sea  Coast,  whose  waves  oerthrew 
Busiris  and  his  Memphian  Chivalrie, 
While  with  perfidious  hatred  they  pursued 
The  Sojourners  of  Goshen,  who  beheld 
From  the  safe  shore  their  floating  Carkases 
And  broken  Chariot  Wheels  ;  so  thick  bestrewn 
Abject  and  lost  lay  these,  covering  the  Flood 
Under  amazement  of  their  hideous  change. 

In  the  same  book,  too,  is  drawn  the  terrible  but  grand 
portrait  of  Satan — 

His  form  had  not  yet  lost 
All  her  Original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  Arch -an  gel  ruined,  and  th'  excess 
Of  Glory  obscur'd.     As  when  the  Sun  new  ris'n 
Looks  through  the  Horizontal  misty  Air 
Shorn  of  his  Beams,  or  from  behind  the  Moon 
In  dim  E  clips  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  Nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  Monarchs.     Darken'd  so  yet  shon 
Above  them  all  th'  Arch-angel ;  but  his  face 
Deep  scars  of  Thunder  had  intrencht  and  care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek,  but  under  Brows 
Of  dauntless  courage,  and  considerate  Pride 
Waiting  revenge. 


28o       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  third  book  is  less  interesting,  for  the  scene 
changes  to  heaven,  and,  as  Pope  says,  Milton  makes 
*  God  the  Father  turn  a  school  divine ' ;  but  here  also 
there  are  beautiful  pictures,  as  when  Satan  makes  him- 
self an  angel  of  light  the  better  to  work  his  wicked 
purposes— 

And  now  a  stripling  Cherube  he  appeers 
Not  of  the  prime,  yet  such  as  in  his  face 
Youth  smil'd  Celestial,  and  to  every  Limb 
Suitable  grace  diffus'd,  so  well  he  feign'd. 
Under  a  Coronet  his  flowing  haire 
In  curies  on  either  cheek  plaid ;  wings  he  wore 
Of  many  a  colour'd  plume  sprinkl'd  with  Gold, 
His  habit  fit  for  speed  succinct,  and  held 
Before  his  decent  steps  a  Silver  wand. 

Well  does  Hazlitt  say,  '  The  figure  introduced  here 
has  all  the  elegance  and  precision  of  a  Greek  statue — 
glossy  and  unpurpled,  tinged  with  golden  light,  and 
musical  as  the  strings  of  Memnon's  harp.' 

In  the  fourth  bor>k  is  the  beautiful  description  of 
Eden— 

Not  that  faire  field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpin  gath'ring  flours 
Herself  a  fairer  Floure  by  gloornie  Dis 
Was  gather'd,  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 
To  seek  her  through  the  world ;  nor  that  sweet  Grove 
Of  Daphne  by  Orontes,  and  th'  inspir'd 
Castalian  spring,  might  with  this  Paradise 
Of  Eden  strive. 

And  in  the  same  book  there  is  the  fine  picture  of  Adam 
and  Eve — 

His  fair  large  Front  and  Eye  sublime  declar'd 
Absolute  rule  ;  and  Hyacinthin  Locks 
Bound  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung 
Clust'ring,  but  not  beneath  his  shoulders  broad ; 
Shee  as  a  veil  down  to  the  slender  waste 


JOHN  MILTON  281 

Her  unadorned  golden  tresses  wore 
Dishevel'd,  but  in  wanton  ringlets  wav'd 
As  the  Vine  curies  her  tendrils,  which  impli'd 
Subjection,  but  required  with  gentle  sway, 
And  by  her  yeilded,  by  him  best  received, 
Yeilded  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride, 
And  sweet  reluctant  amorous  delay. 

For  this  marvellous  poem  Milton  received  only 
two  payments  of  51.  each,  and  two  editions  were  issued 
during  his  lifetime. 

Johnson  gives  some  interesting  particulars  of  Milton's 
way  of  life  during  his  latter  years— 

When  he  first  rose  he  heard  a  chapter  in  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and  then 
studied  till  twelve ;  then  took  some  exercise  for  an  hour ;  then  dined ; 
then  played  on  the  organ  and  sung,  or  heard  another  sing ;  then  studied 
to  six ;  then  entertained  his  visitors  till  eight ;  then  supped,  and  after  a 
pipe  of  tobacco  and  a  glass  of  water  went  to  bed.  One  of  his  visitors 
describes  him  as  neatly  enough  dressed  in  black  clothes,  sitting  in  a 
room  hung  with  rusty  green ;  pale  but  not  cadaverous,  with  chalk  stones 
in  his  hands.  He  said  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  gout  his  blindness  would 
be  tolerable. 

In  the  years  that  followed  the  writing  of  '  Paradise 
Lost '  Milton  was  not  idle,  for  he  wrote  '  Paradise  Ke- 
gained '  and  '  Samson  Agonistes,'  besides  his  '  History 
of  Britain '  and  several  other  prose  works  of  minor  im- 
portance. He  is  said  to  have  preferred  '  Paradise  Ee- 
gained'  to  'Paradise  Lost,'  though  such  a  preference 
seems  hardly  possible.  In  the  '  Samson '  he  seems  to  be 
portraying  and  lamenting  his  own  blindness,  and  also 
the  downfall  of  the  Puritan  cause. 

In  November  1674  he  died  in  peace,  and  was  buried 
near  his  father  in  the  chancel  of  St.  Giles,  Cripplegate. 


282       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

ISAAC   BARROW. 

AMONG  the  names  which  are  the  glory  of  the  Church  of 
England,  few  are  greater  than  that  of  Barrow.  He  was 
famous  as  a  classical  scholar,  as  a  mathematician,  as  a 
controversialist,  as  a  preacher,  and  in  a  proud  and 
dissolute  age  he  was  a  man  of  most  pure  and  simple  life. 

He  was  born  in  London  in  1680,  and  his  father  was 
linendraper  to  King  Charles,  but  his  uncle  was  bishop 
of  St.  Asaph's.  He  was  a  scholar  at  the  Charterhouse, 
and  was  fond  of  fighting  and  of  making  the  other  boys 
fight.  He  was  also  careless  in  his  dress,  and  this  was 
characteristic  of  him  to  the  end  of  his  days.  He  made 
but  little  progress  with  his  learning,  and  his  father  often 
wished  that  if  it  pleased  God  to  take  away  any  of  his 
children  it  might  be  Isaac. 

In  1645  he  went  to  Cambridge  and  made  excellent 
progress,  but  he  was  a  staunch  Koyalist,  while  the  ruling 
powers  there  were  for  the  Parliament.  One  day  the 
master  of  the  college,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  head, 
said :  '  Thou  art  a  good  lad,  'tis  pity  thou  art  a  cava- 
lier.' On  another  occasion  the  Fellows  wished  that  he 
should  be  expelled,  but  the  master  silenced  them,  saying, 
1  Barrow  is  a  better  man  than  any  of  us.' 

In  1649  he  was  chosen  Fellow,  and  then  turned  his 
thoughts  for  a  time  to  the  study  of  physic,  and  made 
great  progress  in  anatomy,  botany,  and  chemistry.  He 
also  studied  mathematics,  in  which  he  afterwards  became 
so  famous. 

In  1654  he  went  on  his  travels,  and  visited  Paris, 
Florence.  Constantinople,  and  Smyrna.  While  in  the 


ISAAC  BARROW  283 

Mediterranean  his  ship  was  attacked  by  a  pirate,  '  and 
though  he  had  never  seen  anything  like  a  sea  fight  he 
stood  to  the  gun  appointed  him  with  great  courage,  for 
he  was  not  so  much  afraid  of  death  as  of  slavery.' 

When  he  returned  to  England  he  was  ordained,  and 
in  the  year  of  the  Eestoration  he  was  chosen  Greek 
Professor  in  Cambridge.  Next  year  he  was  chosen  for 
the  Mathematical  Lectureship  at  Gresham  College,  and 
a  little  later  to  the  newly-founded  Lucasian  Lectureship 
at  Cambridge.  This  latter  post  he  resigned  in  1669  to 
his  famous  pupil  Isaac  Newton. 

In  1672  he  was  appointed  Master  of  Trinity,  and 
Charles  II.,  in  conferring  the  honour,  said  he  had  given 
it  to  the  best  scholar  in  England.  He  was  already  one 
of  the  king's  chaplains,  and  Charles  listened  with  atten- 
tion to  his  sermons,  and  passed  a  most  true  judgment 
upon  them,  that  '  Barrow  was  an  unfair  preacher,  because 
he  exhausted  every  topic  and  left  no  room  for  anything 
new  to  be  said  by  anyone  who  came  after  him.' 

His  sermons  were  of  great  length :  one  of  them,  we 
are  told,  lasted  for  more  than  three  hours ;  and  on  another 
occasion  the  vergers  at  Westminster  Abbey  caused  the 
organs  to  play  '  till  they  had  bio  wed  him  down.'  His 
sermons  were  written  with  great  care,  but  only  one  of 
them  was  published  during  his  lifetime.  After  his  death 
Tillotson  edited  his  works,  and  the  sermons  have  always 
been  regarded  as  models  of  manly  eloquence.  The  great 
Earl  of  Chatham  read  them  again  and  again,  till  he  could 
repeat  many  of  them  by  heart.  The  younger  Pitt  also 
studied  and  admired  them. 

In   1677,   after  preaching   the   Passion    Sermon   at 


284       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Guildhall  Chapel,  he  fell  sick,  and,  after  a  short  illness, 
died  in  his  lodgings  at  Charing  Cross,  and  was  buried  in 
the  Abbey. 

In  one  of  his  sermons  he  attacks  the  vice  of  swear- 
ing, which  was  so  universal  in  the  witty  and  profligate 
court  of  Charles  II. — 

Another  grand  offence  against  piety  is,  rash  and  vain  swearing  in 
common  discourse,  an  offence  which  now  strangely  reigns  and  rages  in 
the  world,  passing  about  in  a  specious  garb  and  under  glorious  titles,  as 
a  mark  of  fine  breeding,  and  a  point  of  high  gallantry.  Who,  forsooth, 
now  is  the  brave  spark  and  complete  gentleman,  but  he  that  hath  the 
skill  and  confidence  (0  heavens  !  how  mean  a  skill !  how  mad  a  confi- 
dence !)  to  lard  every  sentence  with  an  oath  or  a  curse ;  making  bold  at 
every  turn  to  salute  God,  fetching  him  down  from  heaven  to  avouch  any 
idle  prattle,  to  second  any  giddy  passion,  to  concern  himself  in  any 
trivial  affair  of  his ;  yea,  calling  the  Almighty  to  damn  and  destroy  him. 
If  men  would  but  a  little  consider  things,  surely  this  scurvy  passion 
would  soon  be  discarded — much  fitter  for  the  scum  of  the  people  than 
for  the  flower  of  the  gentry ;  yea  rather  much  below  any  man  endued 
with  a  scrap  of  reason,  not  to  say  with  a  grain  of  religion.  Could  we  be- 
think ourselves,  certainly  modest,  sober,  and  pertinent  discourse  would 
appear  far  more  generous  and  manly  than  such  wild  hectoring  God 
Almighty,  such  rude  insulting  over  the  received  laws,  such  ruffianly 
swaggering  against  sobriety  and  goodness.  If  gentlemen  would  regard 
the  virtues  of  their  ancestors  (that  gallant  courage,  that  solid  wisdom, 
that  noble  courtesy,  which  first  advanced  their  families  and  severed  them 
from  the  vulgar),  this  degenerate  wantonness  and  dirtiness  of  speech 
would  return  to  the  dunghill,  or  rather  (which  God  grant)  would  be  quite 
banished  from  the  world. 

Barrow  by  no  means  wished  to  banish  wit,  but  to 
purify  it  and  direct  it  to  right  ends.  In  one  of  his 
sermons  he  gives  an  exhaustive  definition  of  wit- 
Sometimes  it  listh  in  pat  allusion  to  a  known  story,  or  in  season- 
able application  of  a  trivial  saying,  or  in  forging  an  apposite  tale ;  some- 
times it  playeth  in  words  and  phrases,  taking  advantage  from  the  am- 
biguity of  their  sense,  or  the  affinity  of  their  sound ;  sometimes  it  is 
wrapped  in  a  dress  of  humourous  expression  ;  sometimes  it  lurketh  under 


ISAAC  BARROW  285 

an  odd  similitude  ;  sometimes  it  is  lodged  in  a  sly  question,  in  a  smart 
answer,  in  a  quirkish  reason,  in  a  shrewd  intimation,  in  cunningly  divert- 
ing or  cleverly  retorting  an  objection  ;  sometimes  it  is  couched  in  a  bold 
scheme  of  speech,  in  a  tart  irony,  in  a  lusty  hyperbole,  in  a  startling 
metaphor,  in  a  plausible  reconciling  of  contradictions,  or  in  acute  non- 
sense ;  sometimes  a  scenical  representation  of  persons  and  things,  a 
counterfeit  speech,  a  mimical  look  or  gesture  passeth  for  it ;  sometimes 
an  affected  simplicity,  sometimes  a  presumptuous  bluntness  giveth  it 
being;  sometimes  it  riseth  only  from  a  lucky  hitting  upon  what  is 
strange  ;  sometimes  from  a  crafty  wrestling  obvious  matter  to  the  pur- 
pose ;  often  it  consisteth  in  one  knows  not  what,  and  springeth  up  one 
can  hardly  tell  how.  Its  ways  are  unaccountable  and  inexplicable,  being 
answerable  to  the  numberless  rovings  of  fancy  and  windings  of  language. 

And  often,  he  tells  us,  witty  reproofs  are  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  sober  admonitions — 

When  sarcastical  twitches  are  needful  to  pierce  the  thick  skins  of 
men,  to  correct  their  lethargick  stupidity,  to  rouse  them  out  of  their 
drowzy'negligence,  then  may  they  well  be  applied  ;  when  plain  declara- 
tions will  not  enlighten  people  to  discern  the  truth  and  weight  of  things, 
and  blunt  arguments  will  not  penetrate  to  convince  and  persuade  them 
to  their  duty,  then  doth  reason  freely  resign  its  place  to  wit,  allow- 
ing it  to  undertake  its  work  of  instruction  and  reproof. 

Facetious  discourse  particularly  may  be  commodious  for  reproving 
some  vices  and  reclaiming  some  persons  (as  salt  for  cleansing  and  curing 
some  sores).  It  commonly  procure th  a  more  easy  access  to  the  ears  of 
men,  and  worketh  a  stronger  impression  on  their  hearts  than  other  dis- 
course could  do.  Many  who  will  not  stand  a  direct  reproof,  and  cannot 
abide  to  be  plainly  admonished  of  their  fault,  will  yet  endure  to  be  plea- 
santly rubbed,  and  will  patiently  bear  a  jocund  wipe ;  though  they 
abominate  all  language  purely  bitter  or  sour,  yet  they  can  relish  dis- 
course having  in  it  a  pleasant  tartness ;  you  must  not  chide  them  as 
their  master,  but  you  may  gibe  with  them  as  their  companion  ;  if  you  do 
that,  they  will  take  you  for  pragmatical  and  haughty ;  this  they  may 
interpret  friendship  and  freedom. 

Besides  his  sermons,  Barrow  wrote  a  noble  treatise, 
'  Of  the  Pope's  Supremacy,'  which  has  been  described  as 
'  enough  to  immortalise  any  man,'  but  we  have  no  space 
to  further  describe  it. 


286       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

TWO   HISTORIANS:    CLARENDON,   BURNET. 

THE  many  perils  through  which  England  passed  in  the 
half-century  ending  with  the  Kevolution  are  narrated  by 
two  writers  who  bore  a  chief  part  in  the  events  which 
they  record. 

Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of  Clarendon,  rose  from  the 
position  of  a  simple  country  gentleman  to  be  the  trusted 
counsellor  of  Charles  I.  and  Prince  Charles,  and  at  the 
Restoration  he  was  created  Lord  Chancellor.  Seven 
years  later  he  retired  in  disgrace  to  France,  and  at 
Montpelier  he  completed  his  '  History  of  the  Kebellion,' 
which  he  had  begun  many  years  before,  and  he  also  wrote 
a  history  of  his  own  life.  The  language  of  both  works  is 
noble  and  stately,  and  he  is  celebrated  for  the  skill  and 
nice  discernment  with  which  he  drew  the  characters  of 
the  men  he  came  in  contact  with. 

He  was  born  at  Dinton,  in  Wiltshire,  in  February 
1609,  a  few  months  later  than  Milton,  and  the  poet  and 
historian  died  in  the  same  year — 1674.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  and  went  afterwards 
to  the  Temple  under  the  patronage  of  his  uncle,  who 
was  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench. 

Whilst  He  was  only  a  Student  of  the  Law  and  stood  at  Gaze,  and 
irresolute  what  Course  of  Life  to  take,  his  chief  Acquaintance  were  Ben 
Johnson,  John  Selden,  Charles  Cotton,  John  Vaughan,  Sir  Kenelm 
Digby,  Thomas  May,  and  Thomas  Carew  and  some  others  of  eminent 
Faculties  in  their  several  Ways.  Ben  Johnson's  Name  can  never  be  for- 
gotten, having  by  his  very  good  Learning,  and  the  Severity  of  his  Nature 
and  Manners,  very  much  reformed  the  Stage;  and,  indeed,  English 
Poetry  itself.  His  natural  Advantages  were  judgment  to  order  and  govern 


CLARENDON  287 

Fancy,  rather  than  Excess  of  Fancy,  his  Productions  being  slow  and 
upon  Deliberation,  yet  then  abounding  with  great  Wit  and  Fancy,  and 
will  live  accordingly. 

He  was  early  brought  in  contact  with  Archbishop 
Laud,  who  liked  him ;  and  he  gives  an  interesting  account 
of  a  visit  to  Lambeth- 
He  found  the  Archbishop  early  walking  in  the  Garden  ;  who  received 
him  according  to  his  Custom  very  graciously,  and,  continuing  his  Walk, 
asked  him  '  What  good  News  in  the  Country  ?  '  to  which  He  answered, 
*  there  was  none  good  ;  the  People  were  universally  discontented ;  and 
(which  troubled  him  most)  that  many  People  spoke  extreme  ill  of  his 
Grace,  as  the  Cause  of  all  that  was  amiss.'  He  replied,  '  that  He  was 
sorry  for  it ;  He  knew  He  did  not  deserve  it ;  and  that  He  must  not  give 
over  serving  the  King  and  the  Church  to  please  the  People,  who  other- 
wise would  not  speak  well  of  him.' 

Clarendon  describes  the  state  of  England  before  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  as  one  of  peace  and  plenty — 

The  Kingdoms  we  now  lament  were  alone  looked  upon  as  the  Garden 
of  the  Werld ;  Scotland  (which  was  but  the  Wilderness  of  that  Garden) 
in  a  full,  entire,  and  undisturbed  Peace  which  they  had  never  seen ;  the 
rage  and  barbarism  of  their  Private  Feuds  being  composed  to  the  rever- 
ence or  to  the  awe  of  publick  Justice.  Ireland,  which  had  been  a  Spunge 
to  draw,  and  a  Gulph  to  swallow  all  that  could  be  spar'd  and  all  that 
could  be  got  from  England,  reduced  to  that  good  degree  of  Husbandry 
and  Government  that  it  not  only  subsisted  of  itself  and  gave  this  King- 
dom all  that  it  might  have  expected  from  it ;  but  really  increas'd  the 
Revenue  of  the  Crown  ;  Arts  and  Sciences  fruitfully  planted  there ;  and 
the  whole  Nation  beginning  to  be  so  civiliz'd  that  it  was  a  Jewel  of 
great  Lustre  in  the  Royal  Diadem. 

Soon  this  happy  state  of  things  was  changed— 

A  small,  scarce  discernible  cloud  arose  in  the  North,  which  was  shortly 
after  attended  with  such  a  Storm  that  never  gave  over  raging  till  it  had 
shaken,  and  even  rooted  up,  the  greatest  and  tallest  Cedars  of  the  three 
Nations ;  blasted  all  its  Beauty  and  Fruitfulness  ;  brought  its  Strength 
to  Decay,  and  its  Glory  to  Reproach,  and  almost  to  Desolation  ;  by  such 
a  Career,  and  Deluge  of  Wickedness  and  Rebellion,  as  by  not  being  enough 
foreseen,  or,  in  Truth,  suspected,  could  not  be  prevented. 


288        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Of  the  many  portraits  of  leading  men  which  abound 
in  Clarendon's  work  we  can  give  only  one : 

Mr.  Hambden  was  a  man  of  much  greater  Cunning  and  it  may  be,  of 
the  most  discerning  Spirit,  and  of  the  greatest  Address  and  Insinuation 
to  bring  anything  to  pass  which  he  desir'd,  of  any  man  of  that  time,  and 
who  laid  the  design  deepest.  He  was  not  a  man  of  many  words,  and 
rarely  begun  the  discourse,  or  made  the  first  entrance  upon  any  business 
that  was  assum'd ;  but  a  very  weighty  speaker,  and  after  he  had  heard  a 
full  debate,  and  observ'd  how  the  House  was  like  to  be  inclin'd,  took  up 
the  Argument,  and  shortly,  and  clearly,  and  craftily,  so  stated  it  that  he 
commonly  conducted  it  to  the  conclusion  he  desir'd. 

No  man  had  ever  a  greater  power  over  himself,  or  was  less  the  man 
that  he  seemed  to  be ;  which  shortly  after  appear'd  to  everybody,  when 
he  car'd  less  to  keep  on  the  Masque. 

Our  last  extract  shall  be  Clarendon's  account  of  the 
deterioration  of  manners  and  morals  after  the  Rebellion  : 

All  Kelations  were  confounded  by  the  several  Sects  in  Religion,  which 
discountenanced  all  Forms  of  Reverence  and  Respect,  as  Reliques  and 
Marks  of  Superstition.  Children  asked  not  Blessing  of  their  Parents ; 
nor  did  They  concern  themselves  in  the  Education  of  their  children,  but 
were  well  content  that  They  should  take  any  course  to  maintain  them- 
selves, that  They  might  be  free  from  that  Expense.  The  young  Women 
conversed  without  any  Circumspection  or  Modesty,  and  frequently  met  at 
Taverns  and  Common  Eating-houses  ;  and  They  who  were  stricter  and 
more  severe  in  their  Comportment,  became  the  Wives  of  the  seditious 
Preachers  or  of  officers  of  the  Army.  The  Daughters  of  noble  and 
illustrious  Families  bestowed  themselves  upon  the  Divines  of  the  time, 
or  other  low  and  unequal  Matches.  Parents  had  no  Manner  of  Authority 
over  their  Children,  nor  Children  any  Obedience  or  Submission  to  their 
Parents ;  but  every  one  did  that  which  was  good  in  his  own  Eyes. 

Gilbert  Burnet  was  a  writer  of  far  less  genius  than 
Clarendon,  but  his  '  History  of  His  Own  Time '  is 
written  in  a  lively,  picturesque  style,  and  his  other  great 
work,  the  '  History  of  the  Reformation,'  displays  great 
erudition  and  sound  judgment. 

He  was  born  in  Edinburgh  in  1643,  and  his  father 


BURNET  289 

was  a  worthy  Scotch  lawyer  who  refused  to  take  the  oath 
of  the  Covenant,  and  who  after  the  ^Restoration  was 
created  a  Lord  of  Session.  Gilbert  was  educated  at 
Aberdeen,  and  in  1663  he  visited  the  English  univer- 
sities, and  became  acquainted  with  Cudworth,  Pearson, 
Fell,  and  other  great  scholars  of  the  time.  After  travel- 
ling through  Holland  and  France  he  was  made  Professor 
of  Divinity  at  Glasgow,  and  with  the  saintly  Archbishop 
Leighton  he  endeavoured,  on  the  basis  of  mutual  con- 
cession, to  bring  all  the  Scottish  clergy  within  the 
Episcopalian  Church. 

He  was  appointed  one  of  King  Charles's  chaplains, 
and  did  not  shrink  from  speaking  plainly  to  him  when 
the  occasion  needed  it.  In  1680  he  addressed  a  letter 
to  the  king,  in  which  the  following  passage  occurs : 

All  the  Distrust  Your  People  have  of  You,  all  the  Necessities  You 
now  are  under,  all  the  Indignation  of  Heaven  that  is  upon  You  and 
appears  in  the  defeating  of  all  Your  Councils,  flow  from  this,  That  You 
have  not  feared  nor  served  God,  but  have  given  Yourself  up  to  so  many 
sinful  Pleasures. 

Such  plain  speaking  was  unpalatable  to  the  King, 
and  in  1684  Burnet  was  abruptly  dismissed  from  his 
Lectureship  of  the  Bolls'  Chapel,  and  he  set  forth  on  his 
travels  once  more.  He  visited  France  and  Italy,  and 
then  he  settled  at  the  Hague,  where  William  and  Mary 
made  him  welcome,  and  his  advice  was  of  the  greatest 
use  to  them  in  the  critical  times  that  were  coming  on. 

After  the  Eevolution  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Salis- 
bury, and  was  most  exemplary  in  the  discharge  of  his 
duties.  He  set  himself  steadily  against  pluralities  in 
the  Church,  and,  chiefly  through  his  exertions,  the 
Queen  Anne's  Bounty  was  founded  for  augmenting  the 

u 


290       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

revenues  of  poor  livings.     He  died,  after  a  short  illness, 
in  1715. 

We  have  room  but  for  one  extract  from  his  *  History 
of  His  Own  Time.'  The  landing  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange  at  Torbay  is  thus  described  : 

The  wind  turned  into  the  South ;  and  a  soft  and  happy  gale  of  wind 
carried  in  the  whole  Fleet  in  four  hours'  time  into  Torbay.  Immediately 
as  many  landed  as  conveniently  could.  As  soon  as  the  Prince  and 
Marshal  Schomberg  got  to  shore,  they  were  furnished  with  such  horses 
as  the  village  of  Broxholme  could  afford;  and  rode  up  to  view  the 
grounds,  which  they  found  as  convenient  as  could  be  imagined  for  the 
foot  in  that  season.  It  was  not  a  cold  night;  otherwise  the  soldiers 
who  had  been  kept  warm  aboard  might  have  suffered  much  by  it.  As 
soon  as  I  landed,  I  made  what  haste  I  could  to  the  place  where  the 
Prince  was ;  who  took  me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  asked  me  if  I  would 
not  now  believe  predestination.  I  told  him  I  would  never  forget  that 
providence  of  God,  which  had  appeared  so  signally  on  this  occasion. 
He  was  cheerfuller  than  ordinary.  Yet  he  returned  soon  to  his  usual 
gravity.  The  Prince  sent  for  all  the  fishermen  of  the  place ;  and  asked 
them  which  was  the  properest  place  for  landing  his  horse,  which  all 
apprehended  would  be  a  tedious  business,  and  might  hold  some  days. 
But  next  morning  he  was  shewed  a  place,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the 
village,  where  the  ships  could  be  brought  very  near  the  land,  against  a 
good  shore,  and  the  horses  would  not  be  put  to  swim  above  twenty 
yards.  This  proved  to  be  so  happy  for  our  landing,  tho'  we  came  to  it 
by  meer  accident,  that,  if  we  had  ordered  the  whole  Island  round  to  be 
sounded,  we  could  not  have  found  a  properer  place  for  it.  There  was  a 
dead  calm  all  that  morning;  and  in  three  hours'  time  all  our  horses 
were  landed,  with  as  much  baggage  as  was  necessary  till  we  got  to 
Exeter.  The  artillery  and  heavy  baggage  were  left  aboard,  and  ordered 
to  Topsham,  the  seaport  to  Exeter.  All  that  belonged  to  us  so  soon 
and  so  happily  landed,  that  by  the  next  day  at  noon  we  were  in  full 
march,  and  marched  four  miles  that  night. 


IZAAK   WALTON. 

THE    author   of    that   delightful   book  '  The   Compleat 
Angler '  was  born  in  Staffordshire  in  1598.     Not  many 


IZAAK   WALTON  291 

details  of  his  life  are  known,  but  he  settled  in  London 
as  a  shopkeeper,  and  had  at  first  one  of  the  tiny  shops, 
seven-and-a-half  feet  by  five  feet,  in  the  upper  story  of 
Gresham's  Koyal  Exchange  in  Cornhill.  Then  in  1624 
he  had  a  linendraper's  shop  in  Fleet  Street,  opposite 
the  Temple,  and  in  1632  he  bought  a  house  and  shop 
in  Chancery  Lane. 

When  the  war  broke  out  he  retired  from  business  to 
some  lands  which  he  had  bought  in  his  native  county, 
but  we  are  told  'he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the 
families  of  eminent  clergymen,  by  whom  he  was  much 
beloved.'  He  was  twice  married ;  his  first  wife  was  a 
great  grand-niece  of  Archbishop  Cranmer,  and  his  second 
the  sister  of  Ken,  who  was  afterwards  Bishop  of  Bath 
and  Wells.  One  of  his  daughters  married  Dr.  Hawkins, 
a  prebendary  of  Winchester ;  and  in  his  house  he  died  in 
1683,  thus  continuing  to  the  last  in  the  closest  intimacy 
with  the  clergy  whom  he  loved  so  well. 

The  five  charming  little  biographies  which  he  wrote 
are  all,  with  one  exception  (that  of  Sir  Henry  Wotton), 
the  lives  of  English  clergymen.  Extracts  from  two  of 
these  (Hooker  and  Herbert)  have  been  already  given, 
and  one  may  now  be  given  from  the  last  life,  that  of  Dr. 
Sanderson,  who,  at  the  great  age  of  seventy-four,  was 
made  Bishop  of  Lincoln  when  King  Charles  was 
restored. 

The  period  of  the  Commonwealth  was  a  time  of 
distress  to  Sanderson  in  his  country  parish  in  Lincoln- 
shire, where  the  Independent  soldiers  would  visit  him 
and  tear  his  Book  of  Common  Prayer  to  force  him  to 
pray  extempore.  Walton  tells  of  a  meeting  with  him  in 


292        HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

London  about  1655,  when  the  two  friends  condoled  with 
each  other — 

I  met  him  accidentally  in  London,  in  sad  coloured  clothes,  and,  God 
knows,  far  from  being  costly.  The  place  of  our  meeting  was  near  to 
Little  Britain,  where  he  had  been  to  buy  a  book,  which  he  then  had  in 
his  hand.  We  had  no  inclination  to  part  presently,  and  therefore  turned 
to  stand  in  a  corner  under  a  penthouse,  (for  it  began  to  rain,)  and  im- 
mediately the  wind  arose,  and  the  rain  increased  so  much  that  both 
became  so  inconvenient  as  to  force  us  into  a  cleanly  house,  where  we 
had  bread,  cheese,  ale,  and  a  fire  for  our  money.  This  rain  and  wind 
were  so  obliging  to  me,  as  to  force  our  stay  there  for  at  least  an  hour,  to 
my  great  content  and  advantage ;  for  in  that  time  he  made  to  me  many 
useful  observations,  with  much  clearness  and  conscientious  freedom. 

He  did  most  highly  commend  the  Common  Prayer  of  the  Church, 
saying  '  the  Collects  were  the  most  passionate,  proper,  and  most  elegant 
expressions  that  any  language  ever  afforded;  and  that  there  was  in 
them  such  piety,  and  so  interwoven  with  instructions,  that  they  taught 
us  to  know  the  power,  the  wisdom,  the  majesty,  and  mercy  of  God,  and 
much  of  our  duty  both  to  Him  and  our  neighbour.' 

The  first  edition  of  '  The  Compleat  Angler '  was 
published  in  1653,  and  succeeding  editions  in  1656, 
1661,  1664,  1668,  and  1678,  and  it  grew  in  length  from 
thirteen  chapters  to  twenty-one.  The  greater  part  of 
the  work  is  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  Piscator 
(Walton  himself)  and  Viator,  and  the  scene  is  the  valley 
of  the  Lea,  which  the  author  must  often  have  frequented 
in  his  London  shop-keeping  days.  The  opening  forms 
a  pleasant  picture— 

Piscator.  You  are  wel  overtaken,  Sir ;  a  good  morning  to  you ;  I  have 
stretch 'd  my  legs  up  Totnam  Hil  to  overtake  you,  hoping  your  businesse 
may  occasion  you  towards  Ware,  this  fine  pleasant  fresh  May  day  in  the 
Morning. 

Viator.  Sir,  I  shall  almost  answer  your  hopes ;  for  my  purpose  is  to  be 
at  Hodsden  (three  miles  short  of  that  Town)  I  wil  not  say,  before  I  drink ; 
but  before  I  break  my  fast ;  for  I  have  appointed  a  friend  or  two  to 
meet  me  there  at  the  tliatclit  liouse  about  nine  of  the  clock  this  morning; 
and  that  made  me  so  early  up,  and  indeed,  to  walk  so  fast. 


IZAAK   WALTON  293 

Piscator.  Sir,  I  know  the  thatcht  house  very  well,  I  often  make  it 
my  resting-place  and  taste  a  cup  of  Ale  there,  for  which  liquor  that 
place  is  very  remarkable;  and  to  that  house  I  shall  by  your  favour 
accompany  you,  and  either  abate  of  my  pace  or  mend  it,  to  enjoy  such 
a  companion  as  you  seem  to  be,  knowing  that  (as  the  Italians  say)  Good 
company  makes  the  way  seem  shorter. 

On  their  way  they  speak  of  otters,  whom,  says  Pis- 
cator, 

I  hate  perfectly  because  they  love  fish  so  well,  or  rather  because  they 
destroy  so  much;  indeed,  so  much,  that  in  my  judgment  all  men  that 
keep  Otter  dogs  ought  to  have  a  Pension  from  the  Commonwealth  to 
encourage  them  to  destroy  the  very  breed  of  those  base  Otters,  they  do 
so  much  mischief. 

In  the  second  chapter  an  otter-hunt  is  described 
with  much  spirit,  and  next  Piscator  catches  a  fine  chub — 

Look  you  Sir,  there  he  is,  that  very  Chub  that  I  shewed  you,  with 
the  white  spot  on  his  tail ;  and  I'l  be  as  certain  to  make  him  a  good 
dish  of  meat  as  I  was  to  catch  him.  I'l  now  lead  you  to  an  honest  Ale- 
house, where  we  shall  find  a  cleanly  room,  Lavender  in  the  windowes, 
and  twenty  Ballads  stuck  about  the  wall ;  there  my  Hostis  (which  I  may 
tel  you,  is  both  cleanly  and  conveniently  handsome)  has  drest  many  a  one 
for  me,  and  shall  now  dress  it  after  my  fashion,  and  I  warrant  it  good 
meat. 

On  their  way  to  the  alehouse  they  see  a  handsome 
milkmaid  and  her  mother,  and  the  two  sing  Marlowe's 
song  '  Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love,'  and  Ealeigh's 
answer  to  it,  '  If  all  the  world  and  love  were  young.'  At 
the  alehouse  they  meet  two  other  brothers  of  the  angle, 
Peter  and  his  friend  Corydon,  and  a  most  pleasant  day 
is  ended  with  feasting  and  songs. 


294       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


JOHN    BUNYAN. 

THE  name  of  the  Bunyans  as  peasant  freeholders  is 
scattered  over  the  records  of  Bedfordshire  from  the  close 
of  the  twelfth  century.  The  one  famous  man  whom 
the  family  produced  was  born  in  1628  at  Elstow,  near 
Bedford,  where  his  father  was  a  brazier  or  tinker.  He 
was  put  to  school,  and  learned  to  read  and  write,  *  though 
to  my  shame  I  confess  I  did  soon  lose  that  I  had  learned, 
even  almost  utterly.' 

When  he  was  sixteen  his  mother  died,  and  he  en- 
listed as  a  soldier  in  the  Civil  Wars ;  but  whether  on 
the  king's  side  or  that  of  the  Parliament  is  quite  uncer- 
tain, and  he  does  not  appear  to  have  been  in  battle- 
When  I  was  a  Soldier,  I,  with  others,  were  drawn  out  to  go  to  such  a 
place  to  besiege  it;  but  when  I  was  just  ready  to  go,  one  of  the  Com- 
pany desired  to  go  in  my  room ;  to  which,  when  I  had  consented,  he 
took  my  place ;  and  coming  to  the  Siege,  as  he  stood  Sentinel,  he  was 
shot  in  the  head  with  a  Musket  bullet  and  died.  Presently  after  this  I 
changed  my  condition  into  a  married  state,  and  my  mercy  was  to  light 
upon  a  wife  whose  father  was  counted  Godly.  This  woman  and  I,  though 
we  came  together  as  poor  as  poor  might  be  (not  having  so  much  house- 
hold stuff  as  a  dish  or  a  spoon  betwixt  us  both),  yet  she  had  for  her  part 
'  The  Plain  Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven,'  and  •  The  Practice  of  Piety,' 
which  her  father  had  left  her  when  he  died.  In  these  two  books  I  would 
sometimes  read  with  her,  wherein  I  also  found  some  things  that  were 
somewhat  pleasing  to  me. 

The  reading  of  these  books,  acting  upon  Bunyan's 
own  honest  nature,  caused  him  to  be  a  great  frequenter 
of  the  church,  where  he  sang  and  recited  the  service 
with  the  foremost — 

Withal  I  was  so  overrun  with  the  spirit  of  Superstition  that  I  adored, 
and  that  with  great  devotion,  even  all  things  (both  the  High  place, 


JOHN  BUN  VAN  295 

Priest,  Clerk,  Vestments,  Service,  and  what  else)  belonging  to  the  Church ; 
counting  all  things  holy  that  were  therein  contained,  and  especially  the 
Priest  and  Clerk  most  happy,  and,  without  doubt,  greatly  blessed,  be- 
cause they  were  the  Servants,  as  I  then  thought,  of  God,  and  were  prin- 
cipal in  the  holy  Temple  to  do  his  work  therein. 

Bunyan  speaks  of  his  leading  a  wicked  life  at  this 
time,  but  *the  only  wrongdoings  that  come  clearly  to 
light  are  swearing  and  taking  part  in  the  Sunday  sports 
on  the  green.  But  a  great  change  came  over  him  ;  his 
present  life  seemed  to  him  to  be  unspeakably  wicked,  and 
only  after  a  struggle  of  intense  agony,  and  lasting  we 
know  not  how  long,  did  his  troubled  soul  at  last  find 
rest.  The  despair  and  hope  and  joy  which  in  turn 
possessed  him  are  described  in  his  '  Grace  Abounding/ 
and  still  more  vividly  in  his  '  Pilgrim's  Progress.' 

In  1653  he  joined  a  Nonconformist  congregation  in 
Bedford,  under  the  ministry  of  the  '  holy  Mr.  Gifford,' 
who  had  been  a  dissolute  officer  in  the  Koyalisfc  army. 
Bunyan  was  soon  chosen  as  deacon,  and  in  1657  he  was 
appointed  preacher,  and  he  preached  with  great  success 
*  in  woods,  in  barns,  on  village  greens,  or  in  town 
chapels.' 

In  1658  he  published  two  small  works, '  Some  Gospel 
Truths  Opened,'  and  '  Sighs  from  Hell,  or  the  Groans  of 
a  Damned  Soul,'  which  carried  to  a  wider  audience  his 
soul-stirring  sermons. 

With  the  Eestoration  the  Episcopal  Church  was  again 
established,  and  Nonconformist  meetings  were  forbidden, 
and  in  November  1660  Bunyan  was  arrested.  A  full 
account  of  the  arrest  and  the  proceedings  which  followed 
is  given  by  Bunyan,  and  we  see  clearly  that  the  authori- 
ties were  most  reluctant  to  deal  hardly  with  him,  and 


296        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

he  would  have  been  set  at  liberty  if  he  would  promise 
not  to  preach.  But  that  Bunyan  could  not  and  would 
not  do. 

In  January  1661  he  was  brought  for  trial  at  quarter 
sessions  before  several  justices.  Bunyan  gives  a  graphic 
account  of  the  proceedings,  and  we  see  that  the  justices 
treated  him  in  a  kindly,  bantering  manner.  Bunyan 
quoted  the  text :  *  As  every  man  hath  received  the  gift, 
so  let  him  minister  the  same  unto  another.'  Then 
Justice  Keeling  spoke — 

He  said,  '  Let  me  a  little  open  that  Scripture  to  you.  As  every  man 
hath  received  the  gift,  that  is  as  every  man  hath  received  a  trade,  so  let 
him  follow  it.  If  any  man  hath  received  a  gift  of  tinkering,  as  thou 
hast  done,  let  him  follow  his  tinkering.  And  so  other  men  to  their 
trades.' 

The  same  learned  justice  is  said  to  have  made  the 
astonishing  statement : 

We  know  the  common  prayer  book  hath  been  ever  since  the  apostles' 
time,  and  it  is  lawful  for  it  to  be  used  in  the  church. 

In  the  end  their  sentence  was  : 

You  must  be  had  back  again  to  prison,  and  there  lie  for  three  months 
following;  and  at  three  months'  end,  if  you  do  not  submit  to  go  to 
church  to  hear  divine  service  and  leave  your  preaching  you  must  be 
banished  the  realm  ;  and  if  after  such  a  day  as  shall  be  appointed  you  to 
be  gone  you  shall  be  found  in  this  realm,  or  be  found  to  come  over  again 
without  special  licence  from  the  King,  you  must  stretch  by  the  neck  for 
it,  I  tell  you  plainly 

When  the  three  months  were  coming  to  an  end  the 
clerk  of  the  peace  was  sent  to  Bunyan  to  try  to  bend 
him  from  his  stubbornness.  Their  conversation  reads 
like  one  of  the  dialogues  from  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress ' — 


JOHN  BUNYAN  297 

When  he  was  come  into  the  house  he  sent  for  me  out  of  my  chamber, 
who,  when  I  was  come  unto  him,  said:  'Neighbour  Bunyan,  how  do  you 
do ?  '  'I  thank  you,  Sir,'  said  I,  '  very  well,  blessed  be  the  Lord.' 

After  some  conversation  the  clerk  told  him  : 

You  may  have  your  liberty  to  exhort  your  neighbour  in  private  dis- 
course, so  be  you  do  not  call  together  an  assembly  of  people ;  and  truly 
you  may  do  much  good  to  the  Church  of  Christ  if  you  would  go  this  way, 
and  this  you  may  do  and  the  law  not  abridge  you.  It  is  your  private 
meetings  that  the  law  is  against. 

Sir,  said  I,  if  I  may  do  good  to  one  by  my  discourse,  why  may  I  not 
do  good  to  two  ?  And  if  to  two,  why  not  to  four,  and  so  to  eight,  etc. 
Ay,  said  he,  and  to  a  hundred  I  warrant  you.  Yes,  sir,  said  I,  I  think  I 
should  not  be  forbid  to  do  as  much  good  as  I  can. 

Seeing  that  Bunyan  was  so  unmanageable,  the 
authorities  seem  to  have  thought  it  best  to  let  him  stay 
in  prison  lest  a  worse  thing,  either  banishment  or  death, 
should  befall  him.  He  therefore  remained  in  jail  till 
1672 ;  but  his  confinement  seems  not  to  have  been 
grievous.  For  at  least  a  good  part  of  the  time  he  was 
allowed  freely  to  come  and  go,  and  he  once  went  as  far  as 
to  London.  He  was  allowed  to  preach  within  the  prison, 
and  did  so  to  as  many  as  sixty  at  a  time. 

While  in  prison  he  wrote  and  published  several  little 
volumes,  of  which  the  most  interesting  is  his  spiritual 
biography,  the  '  Grace  Abounding,'  which  appeared  in 
1666.  It  is  generally  thought,  too,  that  it  was  in  thi? 
time  of  quiet  and  retirement  that  he  wrote  the  first  part 
of  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress.'  But  this  work  did  not 
appear  till  1678,  and  it  would  appear  that  Bunyan  was 
again  in  prison  for  six  months  in  1675,  and  this  may  be 
the  time  which  he  alludes  to  in  the  opening  of  his 
famous  book : 


298       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

As  I  walk'd  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world,  I  lighted  on  a  cer- 
tain place  where  was  a  Denn ;  and  I  laid  me  down  in  that  place  to 
sleep ;  and  as  I  slept  I  dreamed  a  Dream. 

When  Bunyan  was  pardoned  and  released,  in  1672, 
he  was  also  licensed  as  a  preacher,  and  became  the 
minister  of  a  congregation  at  Bedford ;  meeting  in  a 
barn  in  an  orchard.  He  exercised  a  supervision  over 
the  congregations  for  a  wide  circuit  around,  and  he  was 
often  called  Bishop  Bunyan.  His  fame  as  a  preacher 
was  very  great,  and  in  London  he  gathered  immense 
congregations,  and  had  to  be  lifted  over  the  heads  of  the 
people  up  the  pulpit  stairs.  He  wrote  and  published 
many  works — nearly  sixty  in  all.  Besides  those  already 
mentioned  the  chief  were,  '  The  Life  and  Death  of  Mr. 
Badman '  in  1680,  the  '  Holy  War  '  in  1682,  and  the 
second  part  of  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress  '  in  1684. 

He  died  in  1688,  a  few  months  before  William  of 
Orange  landed. 

*  The  Holy  War,'  a  kind  of  vigorous  *  Paradise  Lost 
and  Regained  '  in  prose,  is  a  fine  work,  but  far  below 
the  *  Pilgrim's  Progress '  in  excellence.  The  latter  is 
so  familiar  to  everyone  that  extracts  seem  needless,  but 
two  short  ones  may  be  given.  In  a  little  poem  prefixed 
to  the  work  Bunyan  explains  the  occasion  and  scope  of 
the  work — 

I  writing  of  the  Way 

And  Eace  of  Saints,  on  this  our  Gospel-Day, 
Fell  suddenly  into  an  Allegory 
About  their  Journey,  and  the  way  to  Glory, 
In  more  than  twenty  things  which  I  set  down. 
This  done,  I  twenty  more  had  in  my  Crown, 
And  they  again  began  to  multiply, 
Like  sparks  that  from  the  coals  of  fire  do  fly. 


JOHN  DRYDEN'  299 

In  the  House  of  the  Interpreter,  Christian  sees  a  man 
rising  from  bed  trembling  because  of  a  dream  which 
he  has  had,  and  the  trembler  tells  him  his  dream — 

This  night  as  I  was  in  my  sleep,  I  Dreamed,  and  behold  the  Heavens 
grew  exceeding  black ;  also  it  thundered  and  lightned  in  most  fearful 
wise  that  it  put  me  into  an  Agony.  So  I  looked  up  in  my  Dream  and 
saw  the  Clouds  rack  at  an  unusual  rate ;  upon  which  I  heard  a  great  sound 
of  a  Trumpet,  and  saw  also  a  Man  sit  upon  a  Cloud,  attended  with  the 
thousands  of  Heaven ;  they  were  all  in  flaming  fire,  also  the  Heavens 
was  on  a  burning  flame.  I  heard  then  a  voice,  saying,  A  rise  ye  Dead 
and  Come  to  Judgement;  and  with  that  the  Rocks  rent,  the  Graves  opened, 
and  the  Dead  that  were  therein  came  forth ;  some  of  them  were  exceed- 
ing glad,  and  looked  upward;  and  some  thought  to  hide  themselves 
under  the  Mountains.  I  also  thought  to  hide  myself  but  I  could  not ; 
for  the  Man  that  sat  upon  the  Cloud  still  kept  his  eye  upon  me :  my  sins 
also  came  into  mind  and  my  Conscience  did  accuse  me  on  every  side 


JOHN    DRYDEN. 

WITH  Dry  den  a  new  age  both  of  poetry  and  prose  begins. 
With  Milton  the  line  of  poets  of  mighty  imagination  and 
exquisite  fancy  ceased,  and  Clarendon  and  Barrow  were 
the  last  of  the  masters  of  the  stately  and  majestic  old 
English  prose.  A  sprightlier,  wittier  style  now  came  in, 
owing  much  to  the  light  and  sparkling  literature  of 
France,  as  our  older  literature  was  indebted  to  the  noble 
and  stately  literature  of  Italy. 

Matthew  Arnold  describes  this  age  as  the  age  not  of 
imagination  but  of  prose  and  reason,  and  he  calls  Dry  den 
its  glorious  founder,  and  Pope  its  splendid  high  priest. 
Of  the  two  poets  Dryden  was  the  greater  even  in  the 
excellence  of  separate  works,  and  he  greatly  excelled 
Pope  in  the  range  and  variety  of  his  intellectual  powers. 


300       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

He  is  one  of  the  best  of  literary  critics,  and  his  judg- 
ments of  Shakspere  and  Milton  are  just  and  generous. 
He  equalled  or  excelled  all  others  as  a  reasoner  in  verse, 
and  no  other  satirist  has  drawn  so  powerful  a  picture  as 
that  of  *  Absalom  and  Achitophel.' 

Dryden  was  born  in  1631,  in  the  vicarage  of  Aid- 
winkle  on  the  Nen,  in  Northamptonshire,  where  his 
mother's  father  was  vicar.  His  own  father  possessed 
a  tiny  estate  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  county,  and  the 
poet  inherited  and  retained  a  modest  income  of  601.  a 
year.  He  was  sent  to  Westminster  School,  where  Dr. 
Busby  then  reigned,  and  afterwards  to  Cambridge. 
Like  Milton,  he  was  for  some  offence  expelled  for  a  time, 
and  in  after  years  he  did  not  love  Cambridge.  He  has 
addressed  many  prologues  to  the  University  of  Oxford, 
and  in  one  of  them  occur  the  lines : 

Oxford  to  him  a  dearer  Name  shall  be 
Than  his  own  Mother  University. 
Thebes  did  his  green  unknowing  Youth  engage ; 
He  chuses  Athens  in  his  riper  age. 

One  of  Dryden's  earliest  poems  is  a  gallant  epistle, 
in  which  verse  and  prose  are  mingled,  addressed  to  his 
first  love,  his  cousin  Honor,  daughter  of  Sir  John  Driden. 
Nothing  came  of  this  love  affair,  but  the  lady  lived  un- 
married, and  treasured  the  letter  to  the  end  of  her 
days. 

About  1657  Dryden  came  to  live  in  London,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  next  year  he  wrote  his  first  considerable 
poem,  '  Heroic  Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  His  Highness, 
Oliver,  late  Lord  Protector.'  There  are  in  all  thirty- 
seven  stanzas,  and  some  of  them  are  very  fine — 


JOHN  DRYDEN  301 

His  grandeur  he  derived  from  heaven  alone ; 

For  he  was  great,  ere  fortune  made  him  so ; 
And  wars,  like  mists  that  rise  against  the  sun, 

Made  him  but  greater  seem,  not  greater  grow. 

No  borrowed  bays  his  temples  did  adorn, 
But  to  our  Crown  he  did  fresh  jewels  bring ; 

Nor  was  his  virtue  poisoned  soon  as  born 
With  the  too  early  thoughts  of  being  king. 

Swift  and  resistless  through  the  land  he  past 
Like  that  bold  Greek,  who  did  the  East  subdue ; 

And  made  to  battles  such  heroic  haste, 
As  if  on  wings  of  victory  he  flew. 

Nor  was  he  like  those  stars  which  only  shine, 
When  to  pale  mariners  they  storms  portend ; 

He  had  his  calmer  influence,  and  his  mien 
Did  love  and  majesty  together  blend. 

His  ashes  in  a  peaceful  urn  shall  rest ; 

His  name  a  great  example  stands  to  show, 
How  strangely  high  endeavours  may  be  blest 

Where  piety  and  valour  jointly  go. 

A  truer  and  worthier  eulogy  of  Cromwell  has  perhaps 
never  been  written,  and  we  are  a  little  shocked  and  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  two  years  later  Dryden  was  ready 
with  his  poem  to  welcome  Charles  II.  home.  He  entitles 
it  '  Astraea  Eedux,'  and  takes  as  a  motto  a  famous  line 
of  Virgil,  which  he  translates — 

The  last  great  age,  foretold  by  sacred  rhimes, 
Eenews  its  finished  course ;  Saturnian  times 
Koll  round  again. 

The  poem  contains  over  three  hundred  lines,  and  a 
few  of  the  finest  may  be  quoted.  The  poet  describes  the 
misery  caused  by  the  king's  absence— 

For  his  long  absence  church  and  state  did  groan, 
Madness  the  pulpit,  faction  seized  the  throne; 


302      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Experienced  age  in  deep  despair  was  lost, 
To  see  the  rebel  thrive,  the  loyal  crost : 
Youth,  that  with  joys  had  unacquainted  been, 
Envied  gray  hairs,  that  once  good  days  had  seen. 
The  rabble  now  such  freedom  did  enjoy 
As  winds  at  sea,  that  use  it  to  destroy : 
Blind  as  the  Cyclops,  and  as  wild  as  he, 
They  owned  a  lawless  savage  liberty, 
Like  that  our  painted  ancestors  so  prized, 
Ere  empires'  arts  their  breasts  had  civilized. 

He  then  joyfully  celebrates  the  king's  return — 

And  welcome  now,  great  monarch,  to  your  own ! 
Behold  the  approaching  cliffs  of  Albion. 
It  is  no  longer  motion  cheats  your  view ; 
As  you  meet  it,  the  land  approacheth  you. 
Methinks  I  see  those  crowds  on  Dover's  strand 
Who  in  their  haste  to  welcome  you  to  land, 
Choked  up  the  beach  with  their  still  growing  store, 
And  made  a  wilder  torrent  on  the  shore. 
And  now  Time's  whiter  series  is  begun, 
Which  in  soft  centuries  shall  smoothly  run ; 
Those  clouds,  that  overcast  your  morn,  shall  fly, 
Dispelled  to  farthest  corners  of  the  sky. 

Dryden's  next  great  poem  was  the  '  Annus  Mirabilis/ 
which  was  published  in  1667,  and  which  Described  the 
war  with  the  Dutch,  and  the  Fire  of  London,  the  two 
great  events  of  the  preceding  year.  The  poem  consists 
of  three  hundred  and  four  stanzas,  and  many  of  them 
are  exceedingly  fine,  while  others  are  marred  by  forced 
conceits  and  ludicrous  images.  The  pause  for  the  night 
after  the  first  day  of  the  four  days'  battle  is  thus 
described  : 

The  night  comes  on,  we  eager  to  pursue 

The  combat  still,  and  they  ashamed  to  leave ; 

Till  the  last  streaks  of  dying  day  withdrew, 
And  doubtful  moonlight  did  our  rage  deceive. 


JOHN  DRY  DEN  303 

In  the  English  fleet  each  ship  resounds  with  joy, 
And  loud  applause  of  their  great  leader's  f ame  ; 

In  fiery  dreams  the  Dutch  they  still  destroy, 
And,  slumbering,  smile  at  the  imagined  flame. 

Not  so  the  Holland  fleet,  who,  tired  and  done, 
Stretched  on  their  decks,  like  weary  oxen,  lie ; 

Faint  sweats  all  down  their  mighty  members  run, 
Vast  bulks,  which  little  souls  but  ill  supply. 

In  dreams  they  fearful  precipices  tread ; 

Or,  shipwrecked,  labour  to  some  distant  shore ; 
Or,  in  dark  churches  walk  among  the  dead  ; 

They  wake  with  horror,  and  dare  sleep  no  more. 

The  exhaustion  of  both  fleets  after  the  fight  is  over 
is  thus  described : 

So  have  I  seen  some  fearful  hare  maintain 
A  course  till  tired  before  the  dog  she  lay ; 

Who  stretched  behind  her,  pants  upon  the  plain, 
Past  power  to  kill,  as  she  to  get  away. 

With  his  loll'd  tongue  he  faintly  licks  his  prey ; 

His  warm  breath  blows  her  flix  up  as  she  lies ; 
She  trembling  creeps  upon  the  ground  away, 

And  looks  back  to  him  with  beseeching  eyes. 

In  the  description  of  the  Fire  of  London  he  imagines 
the  regicides,  whose  heads  were  exposed  on  London 
Bridge,  to  rejoice — 

The  ghosts  of  traitors  from  the  bridge  descend, 

With  bold  fanatic  spectres  to  rejoice ; 
About  the  fire  into  a  dance  they  bend, 

And  sing  their  sabbath  notes  with  feeble  voice. 

He  then  prophesies  that  a  nobler  London  will  arise 
from  the  flames— 

Methinks  already  from  this  chemic  flame, 

I  see  a  city  of  more  precious  mould ; 
Bich  as  the  town  which  gives  the  Indies  name, 

With  silver  paved,  and  all  divine  with  gold. 


3o4        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Before,  she  like  some  shepherdess  did  show, 

Who  sat  to  bathe  her  by  a  river's  side ; 
Not  answering  to  her  fame,  but  rude  and  low, 

Nor  taught  the  beauteous  arts  of  modern  pride. 

Now  like  a  maiden  queen,  she  will  behold, 
From  her  high  turrets,  hourly  suitors  come ; 

The  East  with  incense,  and  the  West  with  gold, 
Will  stand  like  suppliants  to  receive  her  doom. 

Some  few  years  earlier  Dryden  had  married  Lady 
Elizabeth  Howard,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Berkshire, 
and  sister  of  Sir  Robert  Howard,  who  was  a  man  of 
letters  as  well  as  a  nobleman.  The  marriage  brought 
Dryden  some  improvement  of  fortune,  but  not,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  much  domestic  happiness.  He  had  also  begun 
to  write  plays,  and  during  his  life  he  produced  nearly 
thirty,  but  not  one  masterpiece. 

During  the  Civil  War  the  playhouses  of  London  were 
closed  and  the  players  were  dispersed,  but  at  the 
Restoration  the  remnants  of  them  drew  together,  and 
two  companies  were  formed,  the  King's  and  the  Duke's, 
so  named  in  honour  of  Charles  and  his  brother  James. 
At  the  head  of  the  latter  was  Sir  William  Davenant,  who 
was  also  Poet  Laureate,  and  who  wrote  a  rhyming  play, 
4  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,'  in  the  heroic  bombastic  style  of 
the  French  theatre,  and  this  play  became  very  popular, 
and  set  the  fashion  for  rhyming  heroic  plays. 

Dryden's  first  play  was  '  The  Wild  Gallant,'  which 
was  brought  out  in  1663,  and  was  a  failure,  though  it 
pleased  Lady  Castlemaine,  the  king's  reigning  favourite. 
During  the  same  year  he  brought  out  'The  Rival  Ladies,' 
which  was  a  success ;  and  the  next  year  he  assisted  his 
brother-in-law,  Sir  Robert  Howard,  in  bringing  out  '  The 


JOHN  DRYDEN  305 

Indian  Queen,'  which  proved  a  very  great  success.  In 
1665  Dryden  himself  wrote  *  The  Indian  Emperor,'  as  a 
continuation  of  '  The  Indian  Queen,'  and  this  play  also 
succeeded  well. 

About  the  same  time  he  wrote  an  elaborate  essay  on 
*  Dramatic  Poesy,'  in  which  the  chief  question  discussed 
is  as  to  the  comparative  merits  of  rhyme  and  blank 
verse  in  tragedies ;  but  the  essay  also  contains  some 
interesting  sketches  of  dramatists. 

Of  Shakspere  and  Ben  Jon son  Dryden  says  : 

Shakespeare  was  the  man  who,  of  all  modern  and  perhaps  ancient 
poets,  had  the  largest  and  most  comprehensive  soul.  All  the  images  of 
nature  were  still  present  to  him,  and  he  drew  them  not  laboriously  but 
luckily  :  when  he  describes  any  thing,  you  more  than  see  it,  you  feel  it 
too.  Those  who  accuse  him  to  have  wanted  learning  give  him  the  greater 
commendation :  he  was  naturally  learned  ;  he  needed  not  the  spectacles 
of  books  to  read  nature ;  he  looked  inwards  and  found  her  there.  I  can- 
not say  he  is  everywhere  alike ;  were  he  so,  I  should  do  him  injury  to 
compare  him  with  the  greatest  of  mankind.  He  is  many  times  flat,  in- 
sipid, his  comic  wit  degenerating  into  clenches,  his  serious  swelling  into 
bombast.  But  he  is  always  great,  when  some  great  occasion  is  pre- 
sented to  him ;  no  man  can  say,  he  ever  had  a  fit  subject  for  his  wit,  and 
did  not  then  raise  himself  as  high  above  the  rest  of  poets 

Quantum  lenta  solent  inter  viburna  cupressi. 

As  for  Jonson,  I  think  him  the  most  learned  and  judicious  writer 
which  any  theatre  ever  had.  He  was  a  most  severe  judge  of  himself,  as 
well  as  others.  One  cannot  say  he  wanted  wit,  but  rather  that  he  was 
frugal  of  it.  In  his  works  you  find  little  to  retrench  or  alter.  Humour 
was  his  proper  sphere ;  and  in  that  he  delighted  most  to  represent 
mechanic  people.  He  was  deeply  conversant  in  the  ancients,  both  Greek 
and  Latin,  and  he  borrowed  boldly  from  them ;  but  he  has  done  his 
robberies  so  openly  that  one  may  see  he  fears  not  to  be  taxed  by  any 
law.  He  invades  authors  like  a  monarch,  and  what  would  be  theft  in 
other  poets  is  only  victory  in  him. 

If  I  would  compare  him  with  Shakespeare  I  must  acknowledge  him 
the  more  correct  poet,  but  Shakespeare  the  greater  genius.  .Shakespeare 

X 


306       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

was  the  Homer  or  father  of  our  dramatic  poets ;   Jonson  was  the  Virgil, 
the  pattern  of  elaborate  writing :  I  admire  him,  but  I  love  Shakespeare. 

In  1667  Dry  den  wrote  '  The  Maiden  Queen,'  and  Nell 
Gwyn  acted  a  part  in  it  with  great  applause.  The  king 
and  his  brother  were  present  on  the  first  night,  and 
Pepys  tells  us  '  the  play  was  mightily  commended  for  the 
regularity  of  it,  and  the  strain  and  wit ' ;  and  as  to  Nell 
Gwyn's  acting  he  says,  '  I  never  can  hope  to  see  the  like 
done  again  by  man  or  woman.' 

In  the  same  year  appeared  as  a  joint  work  of  Dryden 
and  Davenant  '  The  Tempest,'  which  is  Shakspere's 
play  monstrously  altered  and  spoiled,  and  we  can  only 
hope  the  work  was  mostly  Davenant' s.  In  the  prologue 
Dryden  says  : 

But  Shakespeare's  magic  could  not  copied  be ; 
Within  that  circle  none  durst  walk  but  he. 

Other  plays  followed,  and  Dryden  entered  into  a  con- 
tract to  write  three  plays  a  year  for  the  king's  theatre, 
and  he  received  a  share  of  the  profits,  which  for  some 
years  to  come  brought  him  in  from  300/.  to  400L  a  year. 
Among  the  plays  written  about  this  time  were  *  The 
Koyal  Martyr '  and  '  The  Conquest  of  Granada,'  both 
filled  with  swelling  and  bombastic  speeches;  but  they 
suited  the  popular  taste,  and  were  great  favourites.  In 
the  former  play  the  tyrant  Maximin  thus  rages  against 
the  gods : 

What  had  the  Gods  to  do  with  me  or  mine  ? 
Did  I  molest  your  heaven  ? 
Why  should  you  then  make  Maximin  your  foe, 
Who  paid  you  tribute,  which  he  need  not  do  ? 
Your  altars  I  with  smoke  of  gums  did  crown 
For  which  you  leaned  your  hungry  nostrils  down, 


JOHN  DRYDEN  307 

All  daily  gaping  for  my  incense  there, 

More  than  your  sun  could  draw  you  in  a  year. 

And  you  for  this  these  plagues  on  me  have  sent ! 

But  by  the  Gods,  (by  Maximin  I  meant,) 

Henceforth  I  and  my  world, 

Hostility  with  you  and  yours  declare. 

Look  to  it,  Gods ;  for  you  the  aggressors  are. 

Keep  you  your  rain  and  sunshine  in  your  skies, 

And  I'll  keep  back  my  flame  and  sacrifice. 

Your  trade  of  heaven  shall  soon  be  at  a  stand, 

And  all  your  goods  lie  dead  upon  your  hand. 

And  with  his  last  breath  the  tyrant  exclaims : 

And  shoving  back  this  earth  on  which  I  sit, 
I'll  mount  and  scatter  all  the  Gods  I  hit. 

In  1670,  on  the  death  of  Davenant,  Dryden  was 
created  Poet  Laureate,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was 
appointed  to  the  office  of  Historiographer  Eoyal.  In  the 
next  year  the  witty  Duke  of  Buckingham,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  poet  Butler  and  others,  wrote  the  famous  play 
of  '  The  Eehearsal,'  in  which,  in  the  character  of  Bayes, 
Dryden  is  mercilessly  caricatured,  and  the  swelling  pass- 
ages of  his  heroic  dramas  are  parodied  very  cleverly. 
The  play  had  immense  success,  and  the  nickname  of 
Mr.  Bayes  clung  to  Dryden  ever  afterwards. 

Some  few  years  later  he  wrote  a  play  called  '  The 
State  of  Innocence,'  which  was  an  adaptation  of  '  Para- 
dise Lost.'  We  are  told  that  he  called  on  Milton  to  ask 
his  permission,  and  that  the  blind  poet  '  received  him 
civilly,  and  told  him  he  would  give  him  leave  to  tag  his 
verses,'  that  is,  to  add  to  them  the  ornament  of  rhyme. 
Dryden  had  a  sincere  respect  for  Milton,  and  speaks 
of  *  Paradise  Lost '  as  '  undoubtedly  one  of  the  greatest, 

most  noble,  and  sublime  poems  which  either  this  age 

z2 


3o8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

or  nation  has  produced.'  He  is  also  reported  to  have 
said,  speaking  of  Milton,  '  This  man  cuts  us  all  out,  and 
the  ancients  too.' 

In  1681  Dry  den  composed  the  most  brilliant  of  all 
his  works,  his  *  Absalom  and  Achitophel,'  and  its  atten- 
dant political  satires.  '  It  is  said  to  have  been  under- 
taken at  the  command  of  Charles ;  and,  if  so,  no  king 
was  ever  better  obeyed.5 1 

The  time  was  one  of  intense  excitement.  Titus 
Gates  and  his  fellow-perjurers  had  roused  the  country 
with  the  fear  of  a  popish  plot,  and  the  Whig  party,  with 
Shaftesbury  at  its  head,  was  straining  every  nerve  to  get 
the  king's  brother  excluded  from  the  succession  to  the 
throne.  The  gallant  young  Duke  of  Monmouth,  the 
illegitimate  son  of  Charles,  was  in  disgrace,  and  was 
banished  from  court,  and  was  lending  his  ear  to  the 
crafty  counsels  of  Shaftesbury. 

These  conflicting  persons  and  interests  are  sketched 
by  Dryden  with  a  master's  hand.  Monmouth  is  Absalom, 
noble,  but  wayward  and  misguided;  Charles  is  King 
David  sorrowing  for  his  son ;  Shaftesbury  is  Achitophel, 
the  giver  of  crafty  and  evil  counsel.  London  is  Jerusalem ; 
and  the  citizens,  who  were  for  the  most  part  on  Shaftes- 
bury's  side,  are  the  Jebusites.  The  picture  of  Monmouth 
is  sketched  with  tender  care — 

Of  all  the  numerous  Progeny  was  none 

So  Beautiful,  so  Brave,  as  Absalom. 

Early  in  foreign  Fields  he  won  Kenown 

With  Kings  and  States,  ally'd  to  Israel's  Crown ; 

In  Peace  the  thoughts  of  War  he  could  remove, 

And  seemed  as  he  were  only  born  for  Love. 

1  Scott. 


JOHN  DRYDEN  309 

Whate'er  he  did,  was  done  with  so  much  ease, 
In  him  alone  'twas  natural  to  please ; 
His  motions  all  accompany'd  with  grace, 
And  Paradise  was  opened  in  his  face. 
With  secret  Joy  indulgent  David  view'd 
His  Youthful  Image  in  his  Son  renew'd ; 
To  all  his  wishes  nothing  he  denied, 
And  made  the  charming  Annabel  his  bride. 

And  near  the  close  of  the  poem  a  hope  is  expressed  that 
the  misguided  youth  may  return — 

But  oh  !  that  yet  he  would  repent  and  live  1 
How  easie  'tis  for  Parents  to  forgive  ! 
With  how  few  Tears  a  Pardon  might  be  won 
From  Nature  pleading  for  a  Darling  Son. 

The  restless  Shaftesbury,  who  had  been  in  favour  and 
out  of  favour  with  Charles  L,  and  Cromwell,  and  Charles 
II.,  is  severely  dealt  with  in  the  poem — 

Of  these  the  false  Achitophel  was  first, 

A  Name  to  all  succeeding  Ages  curst : 

For  close  Designs,  and  crooked  Counsels  fit ; 

Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  Wit ; 

Kestless,  unfixed  in  Principles  and  Place ; 

In  Pow'r  unpleas'd,  impatient  of  Disgrace, 

A  fiery  Soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 

Fretted  the  Pigmy  body  to  decay 

And  o're  inform'd  the  tenement  of  clay  ; 

A  daring  Pilot  in  extremity ; 

Pleased  with  the  Danger,  when  the  Waves  went  high, 

He  sought  the  Storms ;  but,  for  a  Calm  unfit, 

Would  steer  too  near  the  Sands,  to  boast  his  Wit. 

Great  Wits  are  sure  to  Madness  near  ally'd, 

And  thin  Partitions  do  their  Bounds  divide ; 

Else,  why  should  he,  with  Wealth  and  Honour  blest, 

Eefuse  his  Age  the  needful  hours  of  Best  ? 

Punish  a  Body  which  he  cou'd  not  please ; 

Bankrupt  of  Life,  yet  Prodigal  of  ease. 

The  witty  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who  had  ridiculed 
Dryden  in  the  '  Rehearsal,'  now  received  his  punishment— 


3io       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  the  first  rank  of  these  did  Zimri  stand, 

A  man  so  various  that  he  seemed  to  be 

Not  one,  but  all  Mankind's  Epitome  ; 

Stiff  in  Opinions,  always  in  the  wrong, 

Was  everything  by  starts,  and  Nothing  long ; 

But,  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  Moon, 

Was  Chymist,  Fidler,  Statesman,  and  Buffoon,. 

Then  all  for  Women,  Painting,  Ehiming,  Drinking, 

Besides  ten  thousand  Freaks  that  dy'd  in  thinking. 

Blest  Madman,  who  cou'd  every  hour  employ, 

With  something  New  to  wish  or  to  enjoy  ! 

Railing  and  praising  were  his  usual  Themes  ; 

And  both  to  show  his  Judgment  in  Extremes, 

So  over  Violent,  or  over  Civil, 

That  every  man  with  him  was  God  or  Devil. 

In  squandering  Wealth  was  his  peculiar  Art ; 

Nothing  went  unrewarded  but  Desert. 

Beggared  by  Fools,  whom  still  he  found  too  late, 

He  had  his  jest,  and  they  had  his  Estate. 

The  second  part  of  *  Absalom  and  Achitophel'  was 
published  next  year,  but  it  was  in  great  part  the  work  of 
Nahum  Tate,  who  is  now  chiefly  remembered  by  his 
metrical  version  of  the  Psalms.  In  Dryden's  portion 
there  is  a  most  fierce  and  scurrilous  attack  on  Settle  and 
Shadwell,  the  two  poets  of  the  party,  whom  he  describes 
under  the  names  of  Doeg  and  Og — 

Two  fools  that  crutch  their  feeble  sense  on  verse 

Who  by  my  muse  to  all  succeeding  times 

Shall  live,  in  spite  of  their  own  doggrel  rhimes. 

Doeg,  though  without  knowing  how  or  why, 

Made  still  a  blundering  kind  of  melody ; 

Spurred  boldly  on,  and  dashed  through  thick  and  thin, 

Through  sense  and  nonsense,  never  out  nor  in  ; 

Free  from  all  meaning,  whether  good  or  bad, 

And  in  one  word,  heroically  mad. 

Now  stop  your  noses,  readers,  all  and  some, 

For  here's  a  tun  of  midnight  work  to  come, 

Og  from  a  treason  tavern  rolling  home. 


JOHN  DRYDEN  311 

Round  as  a  globe,  and  liquored  every  chink, 
Goodly  and  great  he  sails  behind  his  link. 
With  all  this  bulk  there's  nothing  lost  in  Og, 
For  every  inch  that  is  not  fool  is  rogue : 
When  wine  has  given  him  courage  to  blaspheme 
He  curses  God,  but  God  before  curst  him 

Between  the  issues  of  the  first  and  second  parts  of  the 
'  Absalom  and  Achitophel '  Dry  den  wrote  the  *  Medal,' 
which  was  a  further  fierce  attack  on  Shaftesbury.  That 
nobleman  had  been  committed  to  the  Tower  on  a  charge 
of  treason  in  July  1681,  and  in  November  the  grand  jury 
of  Middlesex  sitting  at  the  Old  Bailey  ignored  the  bill  of 
indictment  against  him.  The  joy  of  the  citizens  was 
great,  and  a  medal  with  the  earl  on  one  side  and  London 
with  its  river  and  bridge  and  tower  on  the  other,  was 
struck  to  commemorate  the  victory.  This  gave  the 
occasion  for  Dryden's  poem,  in  which  he  describes  the 
shameless  facility  with  which  Shaftesbury  had  again  and 
again  changed  sides— 

A  Martial  Heroe  first,  with  early  care, 

Blown,  like  a  Pigmy  by  the  Winds  to  war ; 

A  beardless  Chief,  a  Kebel  e'er  a  Man  ; 

So  young  his  hatred  to  his  Prince  began. 

Next  this,  how  wildly  will  Ambition  steer  ! 

A  Vermin  wriggling  in  the  Usurper's  Ear ; 

Bart'ring  his  venal  wit  for  summs  of  Gold, 

He  cast  himself  into  the  Saint-like  mould  ; 

Groaned,  sighed,  and  prayed,  while  Godliness  was  gain, 

The  lowdest  Bagpipe  of  the  Squeaking  Train. 

At  about  the  same  time  with  '  Absalom  and  Achi- 
tophel' and  the  '  Medal,'  Dryden  wrote  and  published 
'  Mac  Flecknoe,'  a  further  bitter  satire  upon  the  poet 
Shadwell,  and  this  poem  served  as  a  model  for  Pope's 
still  more  famous  '  Dunciad.' 


$ii       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  this  same  eventful  year  of  1682  Dry  den  wrote 
his  '  Keligio  Laici,'  which  Scott  considered  to  be  '  one  of 
the  most  admirable  poems  in  the  language.'  It  is 
addressed  to  a  young  friend  who  had  translated  Father 
Simon's  celebrated  *  Critical  History  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment,' and  it  is  a  defence  of  the  Church  of  England  in 
its  position  midway  between  the  scepticism  of  the  Free- 
thinkers and  the  superstition  of  the  Romanists.  The 
opening  lines  are  beautiful — 

Dim  as  the  borrowed  beams  of  Moon  and  Stars 

To  lonely,  weary,  wand'ring  Travellers, 

Is  Reason  to  the  Soul :  and  as,  on  high, 

Those  rowling  Fires  discover  but  the  Sky, 

Not  light  us  here ;  so  Reason's  glimmering  Ray 

Was  lent,  not  to  assure  our  doubtful  way, 

But  guide  us  upward  to  a  better  Day. 

And  as  those  nightly  Tapers  disappear, 

When  Day's  bright  Lord  ascends  our  Hemisphere ; 

So  pale  grows  Reason  at  Religion's  sight, 

So  dyes  and  so  dissolves  in  Supernatural  Light. 

Farther  in  the  poem  there  are  some  noble  lines  hi 
praise  of  the  Bible— 

Whence  but  from  Heav'n  could  men  unskilled  in  Arts, 
In  several  Ages  born,  in  several  parts, 
Weave  such  agreeing  Truths  ?     Or  how,  or  why 
Should  all  conspire  to  cheat  us  with  a  Lye  ? 
Unasked  their  Pains,  ungrateful  their  Advice, 
Starving  their  Gain,  and  Martyrdom  their  Price. 
Then  for  the  Style,  Majestic  and  Divine, 
It  speaks  no  less  than  God  in  every  Line ; 
Commanding  words  whose  Force  is  still  the  same 
As  the  first  Fiat  that  produced  our  Frame. 

Within  a  year  of  King  James's  accession  Dryden  had 
become  a  convert  to  Romanism.  Evelyn  writes  in  his 


JOHN  DRYDEN  313 

diary  on  January  19,  1686  :  '  Dryden,  the  famous  play- 
writer,  and  his  two  sons  and  Mrs.  Nelly  (Miss  to  the 
late  King)  were  said  to  go  to  Mass ;  such  proselytes  were 
no  great  loss  to  the  Church.'  In  the  next  year  Dryden 
wrote  a  long  and  elaborate  poem,  '  The  Hind  and  the 
Panther,'  in  defence  of  his  adopted  religion.  '  Under 
the  name  of  a  milk-white  hind,  immortal  and  unchanged, 
he  described  the  unity,  simplicity,  and  innocence  of  the 
Church  to  which  he  had  become  a  convert ;  and  under 
that  of  a  panther,  fierce  and  inexorable  towards  those 
of  a  different  persuasion,  he  bodied  forth  the  Church  of 
England,  obstinate  in  defending  its  pale  from  encroach- 
ment by  the  penal  statutes  and  the  test  acts.' l 

The  language  of  the  poem  is  beautiful  as  in  Dry  den's 
other  poems,  but  we  have  space  only  for  a  few  opening 
lines : 

A  Milk-white  Hind,  immortal  and  unchang'd, 

Fed  on  the  Lawns,  and  in  the  Forest  rang'd ; 

Without  unspotted,  innocent  within, 

She  fear'd  no  danger,  for  she  knew  no  Sin, 

Yet  had  she  oft  been  chas'd  with  Horns  and  Hounds 

And  Scythian  shafts  ;  and  many  winged  wounds 

Aimed  at  her  Heart ;  was  often  forc'd  to  fly 

And  doom'd  to  Death,  though  fated  not  to  die. 

Panting  and  Pensive  now  she  rang'd  alone, 

And  wander'd  in  the  Kingdoms  once  Her  own. 

The  common  Hunt,  though  from  their  rage  restrain'd 

By  Sov'reign  Pow'r,  her  Company  disdain'd, 

Grinned  as  they  pass'd,  and  with  a  glaring  Eye 

Gave  gloomy  signs  of  secret  Enmity. 

'Tis  true,  she  bounded  by,  and  trip'd  so  light 

They  had  not  time  to  take  a  steady  Sight ; 

For  truth  has  such  a  face  and  such  a  meen, 

As  to  be  lov'd  needs  only  to  be  seen. 

1  Scott, 


3H        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  sincerity  of  Dryden's  conversion  has  been 
doubted,  but  at  least  he  has  the  credit  of  remaining 
firmly  attached  to  his  adopted  faith,  and  at  the  Revolu- 
tion he  lost  his  posts  and  pensions,  and  was  obliged  to 
depend  more  than  ever  upon  the  labours  of  his  pen. 
During  the  twelve  years  of  life  that  remained  to  him 
much  excellent  work  was  done,  especially  his  translations 
of  Virgil  and  his  adaptations  of  Chaucer.  In  his  preface 
to  the  latter  work  he  has  some  interesting  remarks  on 
Chaucer — 

In  the  first  place  as  he  is  the  father  of  English  poetry,  so  I  hold  him 
in  the  same  degree  of  veneration  as  the  Grecians  held  Homer,  or  the 
Eomans  Virgil.  He  is  a  perpetual  fountain  of  good  sense ;  learned  in 
all  sciences,  and  therefore  speaks  properly  on  all  subjects.  As  he  knew 
what  to  say,  so  he  knows  also  when  to  leave  off ;  a  continence  which  is 
practised  by  few  writers  and  scarcely  by  any  of  the  ancients,  excepting 
Virgil  and  Horace. 

The  verse  of  Chaucer,  I  confess,  is  not  harmonious  to  us ;  but  it  is 
like  the  eloquence  of  one  whom  Tacitus  commends :  it  was  auribus  istitLS 
temporis  acccrmmodata.  They  who  lived  with  him  and  some  time  after 
him  thought  it  musical ;  and  it  continues  so,  even  in  our  judgment,  if 
compared  with  the  numbers  of  Lidgate  and  Gower,  his  contemporaries ; 
there  is  the  rude  sweetness  of  a  Scotch  tune  in  it,  which  is  natural  and 
pleasing  though  not  perfect. 

The  translation  of  Virgil  was  a  great  success;  the 
first  edition  was  published  in  1697,  and  was  exhausted 
in  a  few  months.  During  the  progress  of  the  work  he 
had  many  unpleasant  contentions  about  payments  with 
his  publisher,  Jacob  Tonson,  the  famous  but  somewhat 
close-fisted  bookseller.  Dryden  steadily  resisted  Tonson's 
wish  that  the  book  should  be  dedicated  to  King  William. 

Tonson  has  missed  of  his  design  in  the  dedication,  though  he  had 
prepared  the  book  for  it,  for  in  every  figure  of  ^Eneas  he  has  caused  him 
to  be  drawn  like  King  William  with  a  hooked  nose. 


JOHN  DRYDEN  315 

This  caused  one  of  the  wits  to  write : 

Old  Jacob,  by  deep  judgment  swayed 

To  please  the  wise  beholders, 
Has  placed  old  Nassau's  hook-nosed  head 

On  poor  2Eneas'  shoulders. 

One  of  Dryden's  works  in  these  his  latter  years  is  his 
magnificent  'Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,'  the  song  of 
6  Alexander's  Feast,'  which  he  is  said  to  have  written  in 
a  single  night. 

A  musical  society  had  been  formed  in  London  in 
1683  for  the  celebration  of  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  and  a 
festival  was  held  annually  on  November  22,  when  an  ode 
composed  for  the  occasion  was  sung.  Dryden  composed 
the  ode  for  1687,  but  the  grander  one,  the  '  Alexander's 
Feast,'  belongs  to  1697.  It  consists  of  seven  noble 
stanzas,  of  which  we  may  find  room  for  two — 


'Twas  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 

By  Philip's  warlike  son ; 
Aloft  In  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne ; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around, 
Tneir  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound : 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned.) 
The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side, 
Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride, 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair  ! 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair. 

In  the  second  stanza  the  bard  Timotheus  is  described, 
who  sings  to  Alexander  the  glory  of  his  birth  as  the  son 


3i6       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  Jove  ;  and  in  the  third  stanza  he  sings  the  praise  of 
Bacchus ;  then  in  the  fourth  stanza  the  fall  of  Darius  is 
pathetically  described— 

IV 

Soothed  with  the  sound  the  king  grew  vain ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again ; 

And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew  the  slain. 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied, 
Changed  his  hand,  and  checked  his  pride. 

He  chose  a  mournful  Muse, 

Soft  pity  to  infuse ; 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 

By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 

Fallen  from  his  high  estate,  v 
And  weltering  in  his  blood ; 
Deserted  at  his  utmost  need 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed  ;  • 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole, 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

Dry  den  continued  cheerful  and  busy  till  the  last.  In 
1699,  the  year  before  his  death,  he  writes  to  a  beautiful 
young  kinswoman  in  the  country : 

I  am  still  drudging  on ;  always  a  poet  and  never  a  good  one.  I  pass 
my  time  sometimes  with  Ovid,  and  sometimes  with  our  old  English  poet 
Chaucer ;  translating  such  stories  as  best  please  my  fancy,  and  intend, 
besides  them  to  add  somewhat  of  my  own ;  so  that  it  is  not  impossible, 
but  ere  the  summer  be  passed,  I  may  come  down  to  you  with  a  volume 
in  my  hand,  like  a  dog  out  of  the  water,  with  a  duck  in  his  mouth. 

In  London  the  young  poets  like  Congreve  looked 
upon  him  with  reverence,  and  *  glorious  John '  sat  as  a 


JOHN  LOCKE  3I? 

king  in  Will's  Coffee  House  in  Covent  Garden,  in  his  own 
arm-chair,  which  had  its  settled  place  in  the  summer  in 
the  balcony  and  in  the  winter  by  the  fireside.  He  died 
on  May  Day  in  1700,  and  he  was  buried  with  much 
pomp  in  Westminster  Abbey,  by  the  side  of  Chaucer  and 
Cowley. 


JOHN    LOCKE. 

DBYDEN  has  been  called  the  founder  and  inaugurate  of 
an  age  of  prose  and  reason,  but  the  philosopher  Locke 
may  justly  share  the  honour  with  him.  His  philosophy 
has  often  been  denounced  as  bare  and  inadequate,  but 
at  least  it  is  intelligible :  it  is  the  philosophy  of  commou 
sense,  and  its  influence  has  been  very  great. 

The  future  philosopher  was  born  in  1632,  at  a  plea- 
sant village  in  Somersetshire.  His  father  brought  him 
up  with  much  care, 

keeping  him  in  much  awe,  and  at  a  distance  when  he  was  a  boy,  but 
relaxing  still  by  degrees  of  that  severity,  as  he  grew  up  to  be  a  man  till, 
he  being  become  capable  of  it,  he  lived  perfectly  with  him  as  a  friend. 
And  I  remember  he  has  told  me  that  his  father  after  he  was  a  man, 
solemnly  asked  his  pardon  for  having  struck  him  once  in  a  passion 
when  he  was  a  boy. 

In  1646  he  went  to  Westminster  School,  and  was 
a  fellow  pupil  with  Dryden  under  Dr.  Busby.  From 
thence  he  went  to  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  in  1652,  and 
eight  years  later  he  was  chosen  Greek  Lecturer  for  his 
college. 

In  1665  he  went  as  secretary  to  an  embassy  to 
Brandenburg,  and  in  his  letters  he  gives  some  amusing 


3i8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

descriptions  of  the  German  universities.  The  next  year 
he  was  back  again  in  Oxford,  and  by  accident  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  at  that  time 
Lord  Ashley,  and  a  friendship  ensued  which  ended  only 
with  the  death  of  the  earl.  In  1667  he  took  up  his 
residence  with  Lord  Ashley  in  London,  and 

from  that  time  he  was  with  my  Lord  Ashley  as  a  man  at  home,  and 
lived  in  that  family  much  esteemed,  not  only  by  my  lord,  but  by  all  the 
friends  of  the  family. 

Locke  was  tutor  to  Lord  Ashley's  only  son — a  sickly 
youth  of  seventeen,  the  one  whom  Dry  den  described 
in  the  '  Absalom  and  Achitophel '  as  '  that  unfeathered, 
two-legged  thing  a  son,  born  a  shapeless  lump  like 
anarchy.'  Locke  was  commissioned  to  find  a  suitable 
wife  for  this  youth,  and  he  managed  the  business  well. 
The  third  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  became  a  brilliant  man 
of  letters,  and  he  tells  us : 

My  father  was  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  choose  a  wife  for 
himself,  and  my  grandfather  too  much  in  business  to  choose  one  for 
him.  All  was  thrown  upon  Mr.  Locke,  who  being  already  so  good  a 
judge  of  men,  my  grandfather  doubted  not  of  his  equal  judgment  in 
women.  He  departed  from  him  entrusted  and  sworn,  as  Abraham's 
head  servant  '  that  ruled  over  all  that  he  had '  and  went  into  a  far 
country  to  seek  for  his  son  a  wife,  whom  he  successfully  found. 

The  children  of  this  marriage  were  all  carefully  trained 
and  educated  by  Locke,  and  the  third  earl  speaks  of  him 
with  reverence  and  gratitude. 

In  1682  Shaftesbury  fled  to  Amsterdam,  and  died 
there  next  year,  and  soon  afterwards  Locke  also  thought 
it  prudent  to  take  shelter  in  Holland.  By  the  king's 
command  his  name  was  struck  off  the  roll  of  Christ 
Church  in  1684,  and  in  1685  his  surrender  was  demanded 


JOHN  LOCKE  319 

by  the  English  Government,  and  he  had  to  go  for  a  little 
while  into  hiding. 

About  this  time  he  was  introduced  to  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Orange,  and  the  acquaintance  gradually  grew 
into  a  friendship,  and  Locke  returned  to  England  in 
1689  in  the  train  of  the  princess. 

His  great  work,  the  '  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing,' had  been  completed  while  he  was  resting  in 
Holland,  and  in  1690  it  was  published  in  a  fine  folio, 
and  Locke  received  30Z.  for  the  copyright. 

In  the  '  Epistle  to  the  Header '  Locke  gives  us  what 
he  calls  '  the  history  of  this  essay  ' : 

Five  or  six  friends  meeting  at  my  chamber  and  discoursing  on  a 
subject  very  remote  from  this,  found  themselves  quickly  at  a  stand,  by 
the  difficulties  that  rose  on  every  side.  After  we  had  awhile  puzzled 
ourselves,  without  coming  any  nearer  a  resolution  of  those  doubts  which 
perplexed  us,  it  came  into  my  thoughts,  that  we  took  a  wrong  course ; 
and  that  before  we  set  ourselves  upon  enquiries  of  that  nature,  it  was 
necessary  to  examine  our  6wn  abilities,  and  see  what  objects  our  under- 
standings were  or  were  not  fitted  to  deal  with. 

This  fairly  describes  the  scope  of  the  essay,  as  an  inquiry 
into  the  nature  of  the  intellect  and  into  the  extent  of 
its  powers,  and  one  or  two  extracts  may  be  given  in  illus- 
tration. 

Many  philosophers  had  believed  and  maintained 
that  our  elementary  notions  or  ideas,  of  number  and 
space,  of  right  and  wrong,  and  of  the  existence  of  God, 
were  innate  or  born  with  us,  and  that  the  child's  ex- 
perience only  developed  and  strengthened  the  already 
existing  ideas. 

But  Locke  maintained  that  no  ideas,  not  even  those 
of  the  existence  of  God,  were  innate — 


320       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

If  any  idea  can  be  imagined  innate,  the  idea  of  God  may,  of  all 
others,  for  many  reasons  be  thought  so;  since  it  is  hard  to  conceive, 
how  there  should  be  innate  moral  principles,  without  an  innate  idea  of 
a  Deity;  without  a  notion  of  a  law-maker  it  is  impossible  to  have  a 
notion  of  a  law,  and  an  obligation  to  observe  it. 

Besides  the  atheists  taken  notice  of  amongst  the  ancients,  and  left 
branded  upon  the  records  of  history,  hath  not  navigation  discovered  in 
these  later  ages  whole  nations  at  the  bay  of  Soldania,  in  Brazil,  in 
Boranday,  and  in  the  Caribee  Islands  amongst  whom  there  was  to  be 
found  no  notion  of  a  God,  no  religion  ? 

These  are  instances  of  nations  where  uncultivated  nature  has  been 
left  to  itself,  without  the  help  of  letters  and  discipline,  and  the  improve- 
ments of  arts  and  sciences.  And  perhaps  if  we  should  with  attention 
mind  the  lives  and  discourses  of  people  not  so  far  off,  we  should  have 
too  much  reason  to  fear,  that  many  in  more  civilized  countries  have  no 
very  strong  and  clear  impressions  of  a  deity  upon  their  minds ;  and  that 
the  complaints  of  atheism  made  from  the  pulpit  are  not  without  reason ; 
and  though  only  some  profligate  wretches  own  it  too  barefacedly  now, 
yet  perhaps  we  should  hear  more  than  we  do  of  it  from  others,  did  not 
the  fear  of  the  magistrate's  sword,  or  their  neighbours'  censure,  tie  up 
people's  tongues;  which,  were  the  apprehensions  of  punishment  or  shame 
taken  away,  would  as  openly  proclaim  their  atheism,  as  their  lives  do. 

Locke  maintains  that  the  only  materials  for  thought 
which  the  human  intellect  possesses,  are  the  impressions 
or  ideas  derived  immediately  from  sensible  objects,  and 
another  set  of  ideas,  which  he  calls  ideas  of  reflection, 
and  which  the  mind  derives  from  contemplating  and 
combining  the  impressions  received  from  without — 

All  those  sublime  thoughts  which  tower  above  the  clouds,  and  reach 
as  high  as  heaven  itself,  take  their  rise  and  footing  here ;  in  all  that 
good  extent  wherein  the  mind  wanders,  in  those  remote  speculations,  it 
may  seem  to  be  elevated  with,  it  stirs  not  one  jot  beyond  those  ideas 
which  sense  or  reflection  has  offered  for  its  contemplation. 

During  1689  a  Latin  letter  on  Toleration  written  by 
Locke  was  published  in  Holland,  but  without  his  name. 
This  letter  was  now  translated  into  English,  and  aroused 


JOHN  LOCKE  321 

much  interest.  Its  principles  were  attacked,  and  Locke 
defended  them  in  a  second,  and  third,  and  fourth  letter, 
still  without  giving  his  name.  He  took  interest  in  the 
passing  of  the  Toleration  Act,  and  it  is  said  by  some  that 
he  suggested  its  terms. 

In  1690  Locke  also  published  his  '  Two  Treatises  of 
Government '  in  answer  to  a  book  published  ten  years 
before  called, '  Patriarcha,  or  the  Natural  Power  of  Kings,' 
and  written  by  Sir  Eobert  Filmer.  Locke  tells  us  in 
the  preface  that  his  work  was  written 

to  establish  the  throne  of  our  great  restorer,  our  present  king  William ; 
to  make  good  his  title,  in  the  consent  of  the  people ;  which,  being 
the  only  one  of  all  lawful  governments,  he  has  more  fully  and  clearly 
than  any  prince  in  Christendom ;  and  to  justify  to  the  world  the  people 
of  England,  whose  love  of  their  just  and  natural  rights,  with  their 
resolution  to  preserve  them,  saved  the  nation  when  it  was  on  the  very 
brink  of  slavery  and  ruin. 

The  fogs  of  London  began  now  to  injuriously  affect 
Locke's  delicate  health,  and  he  found  a  pleasant  home  in 
the  manor  house  of  Gates,  in  Essex,  about  twenty  miles 
from  London.  The  house  belonged  to  Sir  Francis  and 
Lady  Masham,  and  the  latter  was  a  daughter  of  the  philo- 
sopher Cudworth,  and  an  old  acquaintance  of  Locke's. 
They  prevailed  upon  him  to  live  with  them,  and  '  Mr. 
Locke  then  believed  himself  at  home  with  us,  and  resolved, 
if  it  pleased  God,  here  to  end  his  days,  as  he  did.'  He 
took  much  delight  in  the  society  of  the  daughter  of  the 
house,  Esther  Masham.  '  In  raillery,'  she  says,  '  he  used 
to  call  me  his  Lindabridis,  and  I  called  him  my  John.'  A 
few  years  before  his  death,  in  writing  to  a  friend,  he  says, 
'  If  you  were  here  you  would  find  three  or  four  in  the 
parlour  after  dinner,  who,  you  would  say,  passed  their 


322       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

afternoons  as  agreeably  and  as  jocundly  as  any  people 
you  have  this  good  while  met  with.' 

Among  Locke's  intimate  friends  at  this  time  were 
two  of  the  leading  statesmen  of  the  day — Somers,  who 
became  Lord  Chancellor,  and  Montague,  afterwards  Lord 
Halifax.  With  them  he  often  discussed  what  was  then  a 
most  serious  trouble,  the  state  of  the  coinage.  From  Dry- 
den's  letters  to  Jacob  Tonson  the  bookseller  we  see  what 
a  source  of  trouble  and  vexation  this  had  become.  '  I 
expect  fifty  pounds  in  good  silver,  not  such  as  I  have  had 
formerly,'  he  says  in  one  letter.  Again  in  another,  *  You 
know  money  is  now  very  scrupulously  received ;  in  the 
last  which  you  did  me  the  favour  to  change  for  my  wife, 
besides  the  chipped  money  there  were  at  least  forty 
shillings  brass.'  And  in  still  another  letter,  '  If  you  have 
any  silver  that  will  go,  my  wife  will  be  glad  of  it.  I  lost 
thirty  shillings  or  more  by  the  last  payment  of  fifty 
pounds.'  The  greater  part  of  the  coin  was  so  clipped 
and  debased  as  to  be  worth  not  much  more  than  half  its 
nominal  value,  and  this  value  was  different  in  different 
places.  The  confusion  and  disagreement  that  arose  was 
unspeakable.  'On  a  fair  day  or  a  market  day  the 
clamours,  the  reproaches,  the  taunts,  the  curses  were  in- 
cessant ;  and  it  was  well  if  no  booth  was  overturned 
and  no  head  broken.' 1 

The  Government  now  determined  to  call  in  and  recoin 
all  the  clipped  money ;  but  Lowndes,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury,  strongly  advised  that  the  new  crown  should  be 
raised  to  the  nominal  value  of  five  shillings  and  three- 
pence ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  likelihood  that  Parliament 
1  Macaulay. 


JOHN  LOCKE  323 

would  agree  to  this  proposal,  which  would  nowadays 
be  considered  an  outrageous  violation  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  Political  Economy.  Against  this  proposal 
Locke  strove,  and  strove  successfully,  in  his  *  Further 
Considerations  against  raising  the  Value  of  Money,' 
in  which  he  uses  arguments  and  illustrations  that 
should  have  convinced  the  most  simple  and  the  most 
obstinate. 

In  1696  Locke  was  appointed  by  the  king  one  of  the 
commissioners  of  the  new  Board  of  Trade,  and  he 
held  the  office  as  long  as  his  health  would  permit,  till 
1700. 

Among  the  subjects  that  engaged  his  attention  in  this 
office  was  that  of  the  encouragement  of  the  linen  trade 
in  Ireland,  and  we  are  somewhat  startled  to  find  him 
making  the  following  proposal : 

That  spinning  schools  shall  be  set  up,  where  whoever  will  come  to 
learn  to  spin  shall  be  taught  gratis,  and  to  which  all  persons  that  have 
not  forty  shillings  a  year  estate  shall  be  obliged  to  send  all  their  children, 
both  male  and  female,  that  they  have  at  home  with  them,  from  six  to 
fourteen  years  of  age,  and  may  have  liberty  to  send  those  also  between 
four  and  six  if  they  please,  to  be  employed  there  in  spinning  ten  hours 
in  the  day  when  the  days  are  so  long,  or  as  long  as  it  is  light  when  they 
are  shorter ;  provided  always  that  no  child  shall  be  obliged  to  go  above 
two  miles  to  any  such  school. 

One  of  Locke's  most  interesting  works  is  that  entitled 
'  Some  Thoughts  concerning  Education,'  which  he 
addressed  to  a  friend  in  1690.  It  is  noticeable  that 
*  book  learning '  is  only  dealt  with  in  the  last  quarter  of 
the  work — 

You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  that  I  put  learning  last,  especially  if  I  tell 
you  I  think  it  the  least  part.  This  may  seem  strange  in  the  mouth  of  a 


324       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

bookish  man,  and  this  being  almost  that  alone,  which  is  thought  on, 
when  people  talk  of  education,  makes  it  the  greater  paradox.  When  I 
consider  what  a-do  is  made  about  a  little  Latin  and  Greek,  how  many 
years  are  spent  in  it,  and  what  noise  and  business  it  makes  to  no 
purpose,  I  can  hardly  forbear  thinking,  that  the  parents  of  children 
still  live  in  fear  of  the  schoolmaster's  rod,  which  they  look  on  as  the 
only  instrument  of  education ;  as  if  a  language  or  two  were  its  whole 
business. 

His  advice  as  to  physical  and  moral  training  is  very 
full  and  interesting,  and  one  or  two  extracts  may  be 
given — 

Another  thing  that  is  of  great  advantage  to  everyone's  health,  but 
especially  children's,  is  to  be  much  in  the  open  air,  and  very  little  by  the 
fire  even  in  winter.  Thus  the  body  may  be  brought  to  bear  almost  any- 
thing. If  I  should  advise  him  to  play  in  the  wind  and  sun  without  a 
hat,  I  doubt  whether  it  could  be  borne.  There  would  a  thousand  objec- 
tions be  made  against  it,  which  at  last  would  amount  to  no  more  in 
truth  than  being  sunburnt.  And  if  my  young  master  be  to  be  kept 
always  in  the  shade,  and  never  exposed  to  the  sun  and  the  wind,  for 
fear  of  his  complexion,  it  may  be  a  good  way  to  make  him  a  beau  but 
not  a  man  of  business. 

Among  his  remarks  on  moral  training  he  says  : 

One  thing  I  have  frequently  observed  in  children,  that  when  they 
have  got  possession  of  any  poor  creature  they  are  apt  to  use  it  ill ;  they 
often  torment  and  use  very  roughly  young  birds,  butterflies,  and  such 
other  poor  animals,  which  fall  into  their  hands,  and  that  with  a  seeming 
kind  of  pleasure.  Children  should  from  the  beginning  be  bred  up  in  an 
abhorrence  of  killing  or  tormenting  any  living  creature,  and  be  taught 
not  to  spoil  or  destroy  anything,  unless  it  be  for  the  preservation  or 
advantage  of  some  other  that  is  nobler. 

Locke  was  a  pious,  sober-minded  Christian  man,  and 
he  wrote  several  theological  works,  which  are,  however, 
seldom  read  now.  The  chief  of  these  are  a  *  Treatise  on 
the  ^Reasonableness  of  Christianity,'  and  *  Commentaries 
on  some  of  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul/ 


THE  AGE   OF  QUEEN  ANNE  325 

He  died  in  October  1704,  and  on  his  deathbed  pro- 
fessed '  his  sincere  communion  with  the  whole  Church 
of  Christ,  by  whatever  name  Christ's  followers  call 
themselves.'  'His  death,'  says  Lady  Masham,  'was 
like  his  life,  truly  pious,  yet  natural,  easy,  and  unaf- 
fected ;  nor  can  time,  I  think,  ever  produce  a  mor$ 
eminent  example  of  reason  and  religion  than  he  was, 
living  and  dying.' 


THE  AGE  OF  QUEEN  ANNE. 

THE  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  age  of 
Swift  and  Addison  and  Pope,  is  a  brilliant  period  in 
English  literature,  and  it  has  been  justly  compared  to 
the  Augustan  age  of  Koman  literature  with  its  Virgil  and 
Horace,  and  to  the  age  of  Leo  X.  with  its  Ariosto  and 
Tasso,  to  mention  only  a  few  names  out  of  the  cluster 
that  belong  to  those  periods. 

Little  direct  encouragement  was  given  either  by  Wil- 
liam III.,  or  Anne,  or  George  I.  to  literature,  but  some 
of  the  chief  statesmen  of  both  parties  were  themselves 
men  of  letters,  and  they  became  generous  patrons  of 
learning. 

Charles  Montague,  the  great  Whig  leader,  when  a 
young  man,  was  a  joint  author  with  Matt  Prior  of  the 
'  Town  and  Country  Mouse,'  in  which  they  turned  to 
ridicule  Dryden's  fine  poem  of  the  '  Hind  and  Panther.' 
At  the  Revolution  Montague  devoted  himself  to  politics, 


326       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  rose  to  be  Earl  of  Halifax  and  Knight  of  the  Garter. 
His  old  comrade  Prior  was  made  Secretary  to  the  Em- 
bassy at  the  Hague,  and  afterwards  was  chief  ambassador 
at  the  Court  of  France.  Montague  also  took  notice  of 
Congreve  after  his  first  play,  *  The  Old  Bachelor,'  made 
him  a  commissioner  for  licensing  hackney  coaches, 
and  gave  him  a  place  in  the  Pipe  Office,  and  another  in 
the  Customs  worth  600Z.  a  year.  Through  Montague's 
generous  aid,  Addison  was  sent  travelling  on  the  Conti- 
nent in  1699  with  a  pension  of  300Z.  a  year,  and  in  later 
years  he  became  under  his  friend's  patronage  Secretary 
of  State. 

Henry  St.  John,  Viscount  Bolingbroke,  the  leading 
spirit  of  the  Tory  party,  was  a  man  of  far  greater  literary 
talent  than  Montague,  but  he  had  far  fewer  opportunities 
of  acting  as  a  patron  of  learning.  But  he  was  the  warm 
friend,  as  long  as  life  lasted,  of  Swift,  and  Pope,  and 
Gay,  and  Arbuthnot.  Pope  especially  seems  to  have  re- 
garded him  with  the  most  sincere  and  profound  reve- 
rence. 

'  I  really  think,'  said  he  once,  *  there  is  something  in  that  great  man 
which  looks  as  if  he  was  placed  here  by  mistake.  When  the  comet  ap- 
peared a  month  or  two  ago,  I  had  sometimes  an  imagination  that  it  might 
possibly  be  come  to  carry  him  home  as  a  coach  comes  to  one's  door  for 
other  visitors.' 

The  works  of  Bolingbroke,  his  '  Letters  on  the  Study 
of  History,'  his  '  Idea  of  a  Patriot  King,'  etc.,  are  now 
but  little  valued.  They  are  written  in  a  brilliant,  lucid, 
finely  flowing  style,  but  they  have  little  depth  of  matter. 
On  the  death  of  Queen  Anne  he  was  obliged  to  seek  safety 
in  exile,  but  he  was  pardoned  in  1723,  and  returned  to 
England,  and  he  died  in  1751, 


THE  AGE  OF  QUEEN  ANNE  327 

In  a  letter  to  Swift,  in  1729,  he  says  :— 

Both  of  us  have  closed  the  tenth  Lustre,  and  it  is  high  time  to  de- 
termine how  we  shall  play  the  last  act  of  the  farce.  Might  not  my  life 
be  entituled  much  more  properly  a  What-d'ye-call-it  than  a  Farce  ?  some 
comedy  and  a  great  deal  of  tragedy,  and  the  whole  interspersed  with 
scenes  of  Harlequin  and  Scaramouch. 

The  unsettled  condition  of  the  times  was  another 
reason  for  the  encouragement  given  to  men  of  letters.  The 
principles  of  the  Kevolution  were  by  no  means  universally 
received,  many  of  the  worthiest  clergy  were  non-jurors, 
and  towards  the  close  of  Queen  Anne's  reign  it  seem  pro- 
bable that  the  Pretender  would  be  recalled.  Dutch 
William  was  hated  most  heartily  by  many  of  his  subjects, 
and  not  even  the  brilliant  victories  of  Marlborough  could 
completely  reconcile  the  nation  to  the  great  French  war. 
The  national  will  was  liable  to  sudden  and  violent  changes, 
and  rival  statesmen  needed  to  have  nimble  pens  and 
fertile  intellects  at  their  command.  It  was  the  circum- 
stances of  the  hour  rather  than  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the 
piece  which  lent  such  interest  to  Defoe's  '  True-born 
Englishman  '  in  1699,  to  Swift's  '  Conduct  of  the  Allies  ' 
in  1712,  and  to  Steele's  '  Crisis  '  in  1714. 

The  Age  of  Queen  Anne  is  famous  for  its  genial 
literary  friendships  and  companionships,  and  none  is 
pleasanter  than  that  Which  united  Swift,  and  Pope,  and 
Arbuthnot,  and  Gay.  Of  Swift  and  Pope  separate  and 
special  mention  must  be  made,  but  a  brief  account  may 
now  be  given  of  Arbuthnot  and  Gay. 

Dr.  John  Arbuthnot  was  born  in  Kincardineshire  in 
the  same  year  with  Swift,  1667.  He  studied  medicine, 
and  came  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  soon  became 


323      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

known  as  a  man  of  wit  as  well  as  of  virtue.  In  1709,  he 
was  appointed  physician  to  the  Queen,  and  won  the  friend- 
ship of  Swift,  who  though  he  did  not  love  the  Scotch 
made  an  exception  of  the  doctor.  '  Oh  if  the  world  had 
but  a  dozen  Arbuthnots  in  it,  I  would  burn  my  Travels  ! ' 
he  says  in  a  letter  of  1725. 

Swift  and  his  friends  appear  in  the  latter  years 
of  the  Queen's  reign  to  have  formed  themselves  into 
a  society,  the  '  Scriblerus  Club,'  with  the  purpose  of 
making  war  upon  learned  dulness  and  pretension. 
Pope's  '  Dunciad  '  and  Swift's  '  Gulliver's  Travels '  may 
be  regarded  as  the  partial  working  out  of  the  design, 
and  Arbuthnot  was  the  author  of  the  very  humorous 
'  Memoirs  of  Martinus  Scriblerus,'  the  pedant  in  whose 
person  learned  dulness  was  to  be  ridiculed. 

Martin  was  the  only  son  of  a  learned  old  gentleman, 
Cornelius  Scriblerus,  who  took  infinite  pains  with  the  boy's 
education  from  the  very  moment  of  his  birth. 

No  sooner  was  the  cry  of  the  infant  heard  but  the  old  gentleman 
rushed  into  the  room,  and,  snatching  it  into  his  arms,  examined  every 
limb  with  attention.  He  was  infinitely  pleased  to  find  that  the  child 
had  the  wart  of  Cicero,  the  wry  neck  of  Alexander,  knots  upon  his  legs 
like  Marius,  and  one  of  them  shorter  than  the  other  like  Agesilaus.  The 
good  Cornelius  also  hoped  he  would  come  to  stammer  like  Demosthenes, 
in  order  to  be  as  eloquent ;  and  in  time  arrive  at  many  other  defects  of 
famous  men. 

When  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  receive  instruction 
his  father  taught  him  in  a  novel  and  interesting  method. 

He  would  frequently  carry  him  to  the  puppet  show  of  the  creation  of 
the  world,  where  the  child,  with  exceeding  delight,  gained  a  notion  of 
the  history  of  the  Bible.  He  invented  for  him  a  geographical  suit  of 
cloaths,  which  might  give  him  some  hints  of  that  Science,  and  likewise 
some  knowledge  of  the  Commerce  of  different  Nations.  He  had  a  French 


THE  AGE   OF  QUEEN  ANNE  329 

hat  with  an  African  Feather,  Holland  Shirts,  and  Flanders  Lace,  English 
Cloth  lined  with  Indian  Silk  ;  his  Gloves  were  Italian,  and  his  Shoes  were 
Spanish.  He  was  made  to  observe  this,  and  daily  catechis'd  thereupon, 
which  his  father  was  wont  to  call  '  Travelling  at  home.'  He  never  gave 
him  a  Fig  or  an  Orange  but  he  obliged  him  to  give  an  account  from  what 
Country  it  came.  In  Natural  history  he  was  much  assisted  by  his  Curi- 
osity in  Sign  Posts,  insomuch  that  he  hath  often  confessed  he  owed  to 
them  the  knowledge  of  many  Creatures  which  he  never  since  found  in 
any  Author,  such  as  White  Lions,  Golden  Dragons,  <fec. 

In  1712  Arbuthnot  who  was  an  ardent  Tory  wrote 
'  Law  is  a  Bottomless  Pit ;  or,  the  History  of  John  Bull,' 
a  very  amusing  parody  of  the  history  of  the  great  French 
war.  On  the  death  of  the  Queen  he  lost  his  Court  ap- 
pointment, but  he  maintained  his  cheerful  good  humour 
to  the  last.  He  died  in  1735. 

John  Gay  was  born  in  Devonshire  in  the  same  year 
with  Pope,  1688,  and  he  came  to  London  as  an  apprentice 
to  a  silk  mercer.  He  attracted  the  notice  of  the  Duchess 
of  Monmouth,  and  in  1712  became  her  secretary,  and  he 
wrote  poems  which  gained  for  him  the  notice  and  friend- 
ship of  Pope. 

In  1713  he  wrote  *  The  Shepherd's  Week '  in  six  Pas- 
torals, in  which  English  country  manners  were  copied  in 
all  their  reality.  They  were  intended  to  ridicule  the 
Pastorals  recently  written  by  Ambrose  Philips,  Addison's 
friend,  in  which  the  manners  of  an  imaginary  golden 
age  are  described. 

In  his  introduction  Gay  says  :— 

Thou  wilt  not  find  my  shepherdesses  idly  piping  on  oaten  reeds,  but 
milking  the  kine,  tying  up  the  sheaves,  or,  if  the  hogs  are  astray,  driving 
them  to  their  sties.  My  shepherd  gathereth  none  other  nosegays  but 
what  are  the  growth  of  our  own  fields ;  he  sleepeth  not  under  myrtle 
shades  but  under  a  hedge  ;  nor  doth  he  vigilantly  defend  his  flock  from 
wolves,  because  there  are  none. 


330       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Gay  wrote  several  plays  which  were  only  moderately 
successful,  but  his  '  Beggar's  Opera '  had  an  immense 
success. 

Dr.  Swift  had  been  observing  once  to  Mr.  Gay  what  an  odd  pretty 
sort  of  a  thing  a  Newgate  Pastoral  might  make.  Gay  was  inclined  to 
try  at  such  a  thing  for  some  time,  but  afterwards  thought  it  would  be 
better  to  write  a  comedy  on  the  same  plan.  This  was  what  gave  rise  to 
the  '  Beggar's  Opera.' 

The  piece  was  received  with  greater  applause  than  was  ever  known. 
The  ladies  carried  about  with  them  the  favourite  songs  of  it  in  fans,  and 
houses  were  furnished  with  it  in  screens. 

Gay's  '  Fables '  and  his  ballads,  especially  '  Black- 
eyed  Susan,'  are  now  his  best-remembered  works.  He 
died  in  17  82,  and  Pope  wrote  his  epitaph  beginning — 

Of  manners  gentle,  of  affections  mild  ; 
In  wit,  a  man,  simplicity,  a  child. 

Pope  wrote  to  Swift  an  account  of  the  death,  and  the 
latter  endorsed  the  letter — 

On  my  dear  friend  Mr.  Gay's  death.  Received  December  15,  but  not 
read  till  the  20th,  by  an  impulse  foreboding  some  misfortune. 

Three  years  later,  after  Arbuthnot's  death,  Swift 
writes  :— 

The  death  of  Mr.  Gay  and  the  Doctor  hath  been  terrible  wounds  near 
my  heart.  Their  living  would  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  me,  although 
I  should  never  have  seen  them  ;  like  a  sum  of  money  in  a  bank,  from 
which  I  should  receive  at  least  annual  interest,  as  I  do  from  you  and 
have  done  from  my  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

As  Swift  was  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  admiring  friends, 
so  also  was  Addison.  The  chief  of  these  friends  were 
Steele,  Tickell,  Ambrose  Philips  and  Eustace  Budgell, 
and  their  daily  gathering  place  was  Button's  coffee  house 


THE  AGE   OF  QUEEN  ANNE  331 

by  Covent  Garden,  where  Addison  reigned  as  Dryden  had 
done  at  Will's. 

Eustace  Budgell  was  a  relation  of  Addison,  and  wrote 
a  considerable  number  of  the  '  Spectators,'  and  caught 
Addison's  manner  very  happily.  He  went  with  Addison 
to  Ireland  as  clerk,  and  he  afterwards  became  a  member 
of  parliament  and  Under  Secretary  of  State.  In  his 
latter  days  he  fell  into  disgrace  and  misery,  and  committed 
suicide  in  1737,  leaving  written  on  a  slip  of  paper  the 
lines — 

What  Cato  did  and  Addison  approved 
Cannot  be  wrong. 

Ambrose  Philips  and  Pope  made  their  first  appear- 
ance as  poets  in  Tonson's  '  Miscellany,'  where  Philips's 
'  Pastorals '  are  at  the  beginning  of  the  volume,  and 
Pope's  at  the  end.  The  circle  at  Button's  praised  Philips's 
poems  so  highly  both  in  conversation  and  in  the  '  Spec- 
tator '  and  '  Guardian,'  that  Pope  was  irritated  and  wrote 
an  ironical  paper  for  the  '  Guardian '  (No.  40),  in  which 
he  appears  to  give  the  preference  to  Philips,  but  very 
artfully  contrives  in  the  extracts  to  show  his  own 
superiority.  Philips  in  his  turn  was  greatly  irritated, 
and  hung  up  a  rod  in  Button's  with  which  he  vowed  he 
would  whip  Pope.  Several  plays  were  written  by  Philips, 
and  one  of  these,  *  The  Distressed  Mother,'  had  consider- 
able success  and  was  highly  praised  in  the  '  Spectator ' 
(No.  290).  Philips  also  wrote  a  number  of  simple  little 
short-lined  songs,  which  caused  the  wits  to  play  upon  his 
name  and  call  him  *  Namby  Pamby.' 

Thomas  Tickell  wrote  several  poems  of  considerable 
merit,  the  best  perhaps  being  that  on  the  death  of  Addison, 


332       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  which  Johnson  says  '  a  more  sublime  or  more  elegant 
funeral  poem  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  whole  compass  of 
English  literature.'  His  poem  of '  The  Prospect  of  Peace  ' 
received  warm  praise  in  the  '  Spectator  '  (No.  523),  and 
'  The  Boyal  Progress  '  describing  the  arrival  of  George  I. 
is  inserted  in  the  *  Spectator '  (No.  620).  Tickell  also 
translated  the  first  book  of  the  '  Iliad,'  and  it  was  published 
at  the  same  time  with  Pope's  translation.  Again  the  little 
circle  at  Button's  exalted  their  friend's  performance  above 
that  of  his  rival ;  and  Johnson  tells  us— 

Addison  declared  that  the  rival  versions  were  both  good,  but  that 
Tickell's  was  the  best  that  ever  was  made.  Pope  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  much  dismayed  ;  '  for,'  says  he,  '  I  have  the  town — that  is  the 
mob— on  my  side ; '  and  he  appeals  to  the  people  as  his  proper  judges ; 
and  if  they  are  not  inclined  to  condemn  him,  he  is  in  little  care  about 
the  high-flyers  at  Button's. 

Pope's  irritation  against  Addison  now  reached  a 
height,  and  he  sketched  the  famous  portrait  of  him  which 
was  published  many  years  later. 

Peace  to  all  such  !  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  Genius  kindles,  and  fair  Fame  inspires  ; 
Blest  with  each  Talent  and  each  Art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  Ease : 
Should  such  a  Man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  Brother  near  the  Throne ; 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  Eyes, 
And  hate  for  Arts  that  cans'd  himself  to  rise  ; 
Damn  with  faint  Praise,  assent  with  civil  Leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer  ; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  Fault,  and  hesitate  Dislike  ; 
Alike  reserv'd  to  blame,  or  to  commend, 
A  tim'rous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  Friend  ; 
Dreading  ev'n  fools,  by  Flatterers  besieg'd, 
And  so  obliging,  that  he  ne'er  oblig'd ; 


THE  AGE   OF  QUEEN  ANNE  333 

Who  when  two  Wits  on  rival  Themes  contest, 
Approves  of  each,  but  likes  the  worst  the  best ; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  Senate  Laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  Applause, 
While  Wits  and  Templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  Face  of  Praise  : — 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ? 

The  friendship  and  companionship  of  Steele  and 
Addison  were  so  memorable  that  they  merit  a  separate 
chapter,  and  this  introductory  notice  of  the  Age  of  Queen 
Anne  may  be  closed  with  a  little  picture  which  Pope 
gives  us  of  the  publishers  and  hack  writers  of  the  time. 

Jacob  Tonson,  the  first  of  the  great  booksellers,  had 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  fortune  with  Dryden's  translation 
of  Virgil,  and  Bernard  Lintot  hoped  to  do  the  same  with 
Pope's  Homer.  In  a  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Burlington  the 
poet  gives  an  amusing  description  of  his  bookseller. 

The  enterprising  Mr.  Lintot,  the  redoubtable  rival  of  Mr.  Tonson, 
overtook  me  in  Windsor  Forest.  He  said  he  heard  I  designed  for  Ox- 
ford, the  seat  of  the  Muses,  and  would,  as  my  bookseller,  by  all  means 
accompany  me  thither. 

After  the  first  greetings  they  jog  on  together. 

Mr.  Lintot  began  in  this  manner.  '  Now  damn  them  !  What  if  they 
should  put  it  into  the  newspaper  how  you  and  I  went  together  to  Oxford  ? 
What  would  I  care  ?  If  I  should  go  down  into  Sussex,  they  would  say  I 
was  gone  to  the  Speaker.  But  what  of  that  ?  If  my  son  were  but  big 
enough  to  go  on  with  the  business,  by  G — d  I  would  keep  as  good  com- 
pany as  old  Jacob ! 

As  Mr.  Lintot  was  talking,  I  observed  he  sate  uneasy  on  his  saddle, 
for  which  I  expressed  some  solicitude.  Nothing,  says  he,  I  can  bear  it 
well  enough  ;  but  since  we  have  the  day  before  us,  methinks  it  would  be 
very  pleasant  for  you  to  rest  awhile  under  the  woods.  When  we  were 
alighted,  '  See  here,  what  a  mighty  pretty  Horace  I  have  in  my  pocket ! 
What  if  you  amus'd  yourself  in  turning  an  ode,  till  we  mount  again  ? 


334       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Lord  !  if  you  pleas'd,  what  a  clever  Miscellany  might  you  make  at  leisure 
hours.' 

Lintot  then  spoke  of  his  authors,  of  Dr.  King— 

who  would  write  verses  in  a  tavern  three  hours  after  he  could  not  speak, 
and  Sir  Kichard,  who  in  that  rumbling  old  chariot  of  his,  between  Fleet- 
ditch  and  St.  Giles'  pound,  shall  make  you  half  a  Job. 

But  his  translators  gave  him  most  trouble. 

Sir,  said  he,  they  are  the  saddest  pack  of  rogues  in  the  world  ;  in  a 
hungry  fit,  they'll  swear  they  understand  all  the  languages  in*  the 
universe.  I  have  known  one  of  them  take  down  a  Greek  book  upon  my 
counter  and  cry,  '  Ay,  this  is  Hebrew,  I  must  read  it  from  the  latter  end.' 
By  G  —  d,  I  can  never  be  sure  in  these  fellows,  for  I  neither  understand 
Greek,  Latin,  French,  nor  Italian  myself. 


Lintot  was  certainly  vulgar  and  ignorant  enough, 
Edmund  Curll,  the  pirate  bookseller,  was  far  worse,  and 
Pope  covers  him  with  the  coarsest  mockery  and  abuse. 
The  following  extracts  are  from  a  paper  of  '  Instructions 
to  a  porter  how  to  find  Mr.  Curll's  authors.' 

At  a  tallow-chandler's  in  Petty  France,  half  way  under  the  blind 
arch,  ask  for  the  historian. 

At  the  Bedstead  and  Bolster,  a  music  house  in  Moorfields,  two  trans- 
lators in  a  bed  together. 

At  the  Hercules  and  Still  in  Vinegar  Yard,  a  schoolmaster  with' 
carbuncles  on  his  nose. 

At  the  farthing  pye-house  in  Tooting  Fields,  the  young  man  who  is 
writing  my  new  Pastorals. 

At  the  laundresses  at  the  Hole-in-the-Wall  in  Cursitor  Alley,  up  three 
pairs  of  stairs,  the  author  of  my  Church  History.  You  may  also  speak 
to  the  gentleman  who  lies  by  him  in  the  flock  bed,  my  index  maker. 

Call  at  Budge  Bow  for  the  gentleman  you  used  to  go  to  in  the  cock 
loft  ;  I  have  taken  away  the  ladder,  bu£  his  landlady  has  it  in  keeping. 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  335 

JONATHAN  SWIFT 

JONATHAN  SWIFT  was  descended  from  an  ancient  Yorkshire 
family,  and  his  grandfather  was  the  Vicar  of  Gooderich 
in  Herefordshire,  in  the  troubled  times  of  Charles  I. 
Several  of  the  Vicar's  sons  settled  in  Ireland,  and  in 
Dublin  the  little  Jonathan  was  born  in  1667,  but  his 
father  had  died  some  months  earlier.  The  boy's  uncle, 
Godwin  Swift,  bore  the  chief  charges  of  his  education,  and 
he  was  sent  to  Kilkenny  school,  where  the  poet  Congreve 
was  his  schoolfellow,  and  he  afterwards  went  to  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  but  he  was  an  idle  and  somewhat  unruly 
student,  and  he  quitted  the  university  with  little  credit 
in  1688. 

He  then  came  to  England  and  sought  the  protection 
and  patronage  of  Sir  William  Temple,  who  had  known 
his  mother's  family,  and  with  him  he  remained  almost 
without  interruption  until  his  death  in  1699.  Sir  William 
Temple  had  been  a  famous  diplomatist  in  the  time  of 
Charles  II.,  and  though  he  now  lived  in  retirement,  he 
enjoyed  the  favour  and  confidence  of  William  III.  The 
King  paid  several  visits  to  Moor  Park,  Sir  William's  seat 
in  Surrey,  and  he  conversed  with  Swift,  and,  it  is  said, 
offered  to  make  him  a  captain  of  horse. 

The  library  at  Moor  Park  was  a  noble  one,  and  Swift 
made  good  use  of  it,  and  atoned  by  ten  years  of  industry 
for  the  idleness  of  his  youth.  It  was  during  this  period 
that  he  wrote  two  of  his  chief  works,  the  '  Battle  of  the 
Books,'  and  the  *  Tale  of  a  Tub,'  though  neither  was 
published  till  some  years  after  Temple's  death.  The 
*  Battle  of  the  Books  '  is  a  very  amusing  contribution  to 


336      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  famous  controversy  between  Bentley  and  Boyle  as  to 
the  authenticity  of  the  '  Letters  of  Phalaris,'  which  con- 
troversy took  its  rise  from  Sir  William  Temple's  'Essay 
on  Ancient  and  Modern  Learning.' 

The  great  scholar  Bentley  by  his  arrogant  and  pom- 
pous manners  invited  and  provoked  the  attacks  of  the 
wits,  and  it  seemed  for  a  time  as  if  they  had  overpowered 
him  in  argument.  But  it  is  now  clearly  recognised  that 
truth  and  learning  were  on  Bentley's  side,  and  his 
famous  '  Dissertation '  is  a  final  and  unanswerable 
closing  of  the  controversy. 

The  battle  is  described  as  taking  place  in  St.  James's 
library,  of  which  Bentley  was  the  keeper,  and  Swift  thus 
mocks  him  : — 

About  this  time  there  was  a  strange  Confusion  of  Place  among  all 
the  Books  in  the  Library ;  for  which  several  Eeasons  were  assign'd. 
Some  imputed  it  to  a  great  Heap  of  learned  Diist,  which  a  perverse 
Wind  blew  off  from  a  Shelf  of  Moderns  into  the  Keeper's  Eyes.  Others 
affirm'd  he  had  a  Humour  to  pick  the  Worms  out  of  the  Sclioolmen  and 
swallow  them  fresh  and  fasting ;  whereof,  some  fell  upon  his  Spleen,  and 
some  climb'd  up  into  his  Head,  to  the  great  Perturbation  of  both.  And, 
lastly,  others  maintain'd,  that  by  walking  much  in  the  dark  about  the 
Library,  he  had  quite  lost  the  Situation  of  it  out  of  his  Head  ;  and  there- 
fore, in  replacing  his  Books,  he  was  apt  to  mistake  and  clap  Des  Cartes 
next  to  Aristotle.  Poor  Plato  had  got  between  Hobbes  and  the  Seven 
Wise  Masters ;  and  Virgil  was  hem'd  in  with  Dryden  on  one  side  and 
Withers  on  the  other. 

In  the  thick  of  the  battle  Bentley  is  described  thus  :  — 

His  Armour  was  patch'd  up  of  a  thousand  incoherent  Pieces ;  and 
the  Sound  of  it,  as  he  march'd,  was  loud  and  dry,  like  that  made  by  the 
fall  of  a  Sheet  of  Lead  which  the  wind  blows  suddenly  down  from  the 
Roof  of  some  Steeple.  His  Helmet  was  of  old  rusty  Iron,  but  the  Vizard 
was  Brass,  which,  tainted  by  his  Breath,  corrupted  into  Copperas,  nor 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  337 

wanted  Gall  from  the  same  Fountain ;  so  that,  whenever  provoked  by 
Anger  or  Labour,  an  atramentous  Quality  of  most  malignant  Nature  was 
seen  to  distil  from  his  Lips. 

The  *  Tale  of  a  Tub '  is  a  most  vigorous  but  coarse 
satire  on  excesses  in  religion,  and  in  it  Swift's  fancy  runs 
riot.  Speaking  of  the  work  thirteen  years  later,  he  says, 
'  the  author  was  then  young,  his  invention  at  the  height, 
and  his  reading  fresh  in  his  head ;  '  and  when  he  was  old 
and  his  reason  was  failing,  he  was  seen  turning  over  its 
pages  and  murmuring,  '  Good  God  !  what  a  genius  I  had 
when  I  wrote  that  book  ! ' 

In  the  early  part  of  the  book  is  a  passage  in  which 
the  worshippers  of  dress  are  satirised,  and  the  passage 
may  have  suggested  to  Carlyle  his  famous  Clothes 
Philosophy. 

The  Worshippers  of  this  Deity  held  the  Universe  to  be  a  large  Suit 
of  Clothes,  which  invests  everything  ;  that  the  Earth  is  invested  by  the 
Air  ;  the  Air  is  invested  by  the  Stars  ;  and  the  Stars  are  invested  by  the 
Primum  Mobile.  Look  on  this  Globe  of  Earth.  You  will  find  it  to  be  a 
very  compleat  and  fashionable  Dress.  What  is  that  which  some  call 
Land  but  a  fine  Coat  faced  with  Green  ?  or  the  Sea,  but  a  Waist  Coat  of 
Water  Tabby  ?  Proceed  to  the  particular  Works  of  the  Creation,  you  will 
find  how  curious  Journeyman  Nature  hath  been  to  trim  up  the  vegetable 
Beaux.  Observe  how  sparkish  a  Peruke  adorns  the  Head  of  a  Beech, 
and  what  a  fine  Doublet  of  white  Sattin  is  worn  by  the  Birch. 

To  conclude  from  all,  What  is  Man  himself  but  a  Micro-Coat,  or 
rather  a  compleat  Suit  of  Clothes,  with  all  its  Trimmings  ?  As  to  his 
Body,  there  can  be  no  dispute.  But  examine  even  the  Acquirements 
of  his  Mind,  you  will  find  them  all  contribute  in  their  Order  towards 
furnishing  out  an  exact  Dress.  To  instance  no  more,  is  not  Religion  a 
Cloke,  Honesty  a  Pair  of  Shoes,  worn  out  in  the  dirt ;  Self-love  a 
Surtout,  and  Vanity  a  Shirt  ? 

The  Church  of  Eome,  the  English  Church,  and  the 
Presbyterian  Church  are  represented  as  three  brothers, 


338      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Peter,  Martin,  and  Jack,  and  the  first  and  last  are  sati- 
rised mercilessly. 

In  this  way  he  mocks  at  the  pride  of  Rome  : 

In  short,  what  with  Pride,  Projects,  and  Knavery,  poor  Peter  was 
grown  distracted,  and  conceiv'd  the  strangest  Imaginations  in  the  World. 
In  the  height  of  his  Fits  (as  it  is  usual  with  those  who  run  mad  out  of 
Pride)  he  would  call  himself  God  Almighty,  and  sometimes  Monarch  of 
the  Universe. 

I  have  seen  him  (says  my  Author)  take  three  old  high  crown 'd  Hats, 
and  clap  them  all  on  his  Head,  three  Story  high,  with  a  huge  Bunch 
of  Keys  at  his  Girdle,  and  an  Angling  Rod  in  his  Hand,  in  which  Guise, 
whoever  went  to  take  him  by  the  hand,  in  the  way  of  Salutation, 
with  much  Grace,  like  a  well-educated  Spaniel,  would  present  them  with 
his  Foot ;  and  if  they  refus'd  his  Civility,  then  he  would  raise  it  as  high 
as  their  Chops,  and  give  them  a  Kick  in  the  Mouth ;  which  hath  ever 
since  been  call'd  a  Salute.  Whoever  walk'd  by,  without  paying  him 
their  Compliments,  having  a  wonderful  strong  Breath,  he  would  blow 
their  Hats  off  into  the  Dirt. 

There  are  many  such  passages,  and  some  too  coarse 
for  quotation,  and  we  do  not  wonder  that  Queen  Anne 
would  never  consent  to  the  author  of  the  *  Tale  of  a  Tub  ' 
being  made  a  bishop. 

During  Temple's  lifetime  Swift  had  been  ordained, 
and  after  Sir  William's  death,  in  1699,  he  returned  to 
Ireland  as  chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  Berkeley.  He  held 
the  small  living  of  Laracor,  near  Dublin,  and  was  also  a 
prebendary  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.  He  passed  a 
restless  life  for  the  next  ten  or  twelve  years,  flitting  often 
over  to  London,  taking  a  keen  interest  in  politics,  and 
becoming  acquainted  with  the  leaders  of  the  Whig  and 
Tory  parties. 

In  1704  the  '  Tale  of  a  Tub  '  and  the  <  Battle  of  the 
Books '  were  published,  and  Swift  gained  t"he  friendship 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  339 

of  Addison,  who  speaks  of  him  as  '  the  most  agreeable 
companion,  the  truest  friend,  and  the  greatest  genius  of 
his  age.' 

From  September  1710  till  April  1713  Swift  was  in 
London,  witnessed  the  downfall  of  the  Whigs,  and  became 
the  confidential  friend  and  adviser  of  Harley  and  Boling- 
broke,  the  Tory  leaders.  In  their  interest  he  wrote  in 
1712  the  pamphlet  entitled  '  The  Conduct  of  the  Allies/ 
which  had  a  wonderful  popularity  and  greatly  helped  to 
break  down  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  power,  and  to 
bring  the  great  French  war  to  an  end. 

Swift  generously  used  his  influence  with  Harley  and 
Bolingbroke  to  befriend  Congreve,  Gay,  Pope,  Berkeley, 
and  other  literary  men.  For  himself  it  was  hoped  that 
the  bishopric  of  Hereford  would  be  obtained,  but  the 
Queen  was  opposed  to  this,  and  Swift's  friends  could  only 
obtain  for  him  the  deanery  of  St.  Patrick's,  and  he  re- 
turned discontented  to  Ireland  in  1713.  Swift  describes 
his  intimacy  with  Harley  in  his  '  Imitations  of  Horace,' 
from  which  a  few  lines  may  be  quoted — 

'Tis  (let  me  see)  three  Years  and  more 

(October  next  it  will  be  four) 

Since  Harley  bid  me  first  attend, 

And  chose  me  for  an  humble  friend; 

Would  take  me  in  his  Coach  to  chat 

And  question  me  of  this  and  that ; 

As,  '  What's  o'Clock  ?  '  and  '  How's  the  Wind  ?  ' 

'Whose  Chariot's  that  we  left  behind?  ' 

Or  gravely  try  to  read  the  Lines 

Writ  underneath  the  Country  Signs ; 

Or,  '  Have  you  nothing  new  to-day 

From  Pope,  from  Parnell,  or  from  Gay  ? ' 

Such  Tattle  often  entertains 

My  Lord  and  me  as  far  as  Stains, 


340       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

As  once  a  week  we  travel  down 
To  Windsor  and  again  to  Town, 
Where  all  that  passes  inter  nos 
Might  be  proclaimed  at  Cliaring  Cross. 

His  prattling  letters  to  Stella  also  form  a  pleasant 
record  of  his  stay  in  London,  and  of  Stella  herself  some 
account  must  be  given. 

Esther  Johnson  was  a  little  girl  living  in  Sir  William 
Temple's  house  when  Swift  entered  it  in  1689. 

I  knew  her,  he  says,  from  six  years  old,  and  had  some  share  in  her 
education,  by  directing  what  books  she  should  read,  and  perpetually  in- 
structing  her  in  the  principles  of  honour  and  virtue  ;  from  which  she 
never  swerved  in  any  one  action  or  moment  of  her  life. 

She  was  sickly  from  her  childhood  until  about  the  age  of  fifteen,  but 
then  grew  into  perfect  health,  and  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful,  graceful,  and  agreeable  young  women  in  London,  only  a  little 
too  fat.  Her  hair  was  blacker  than  a  raven,  and  every  feature  of  her 
face  in  perfection. 

After  Temple's  death,  and  when  Swift  was  settled  in 
Ireland,  she  also  with  a  friend,  a  Mrs.  Dingley,  came  and 
settled  in  Dublin. 

Her  fortune  at  that  time  was  in  all  not  above  fifteen  hundred  pounds, 
the  interest  of  which  was  but  a  scanty  maintenance  in  so  dear  a  country, 
for  one  of  her  spirit. 

Upon  this  consideration,  and  indeed  very  much  for  my  own  satisfac- 
tion, who  had  few  friends  or  acquaintance  in  Ireland,  I  prevailed  with 
her  and  her  dear  friend  and  companion,  the  other  lady,  to  draw  what 
money  they  had  into  Ireland,  a  great  part  of  their  fortune  being  in 
annuities  upon  funds.  Money  was  then  at  ten  per  cent,  in  Ireland, 
besides  the  advantage  of  returning  it,  and  all  necessaries  of  life  at  half 
the  price. 

She  was  at  that  time  about  nineteen  years  old,  and  her  person  was 
soon  distinguished.  But  the  adventure  looked  so  like  a  frolic,  the 
censure  held  for  some  time,  as  if  there  were  a  secret  history  in  such  a 
removal,  which,  however,  soon  blew  off  by  her  excellent  conduct. 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  34I 

The  mystery  of  Stella's  connection  with  Swift  has 
never  been  cleared  up,  but  it  is  believed  they  were  secretly 
married  though  they  never  lived  together.  She  died  in 
1728,  and  Swift  was  in  an  agony  of  grief. 

This  day,  being  Sunday,  January  28,  1728,  about  8  o'clock  at  night 
a  servant  brought  me  a  note  with  an  account  of  the  death  of  the  truest, 
most  virtuous,  and  valuable  friend  that  I  or  perhaps  any  other  person 
was  ever  blessed  with.  She  expired  about  six  in  the  evening  of  this  day ; 
and,  as  soon  as  I  am  left  alone,  which  is  about  eleven  at  night,  I  resolve, 
for  my  own  satisfaction,  to  say  something  of  her  life  and  character. 

Two  days  later  he  sadly  continues— 

This  is  the  night  of  the  funeral,  which  my  sickness  will  not  suffer  me 
to  attend.  It  is  now  nine  at  night,  and  I  am  removed  into  another 
apartment,  that  I  may  not  see  the  light  in  the  church,  which  is  just  over 
against  the  window  of  my  bedchamber. 

Swift  had  retired  to  Dublin  in  1713  to  take  possession 
of  his  deanery,  but  he  was  recalled  almost  immediately 
to  England  to  reconcile  the  growing  differences  between 
Harley  and  Bolingbroke,  and  to  prop  the  falling  power 
of  the  Tories.  He  did  his  best  both  with  tongue  and 
pen,  but  he  failed,  and  with  Queen  Anne's  death  the 
Tory  cause  fell  in  ruins. 

Swift  then  returned  for  good  to  Ireland,  and  paid 
only  a  few  short  visits  to  England  in  later  years. 

He  looked  with  sad  and  indignant  eyes  on  Ireland's 
miseries,  and  from  time  to  time  he  wrote  pamphlets 
filled  with  fierce  sarcasm  against  England.  In  1720  he 
wrote  a  *  Proposal  for  the  Universal  Use  of  Irish  Manu- 
factures.' 

What  if  the  Ladies  wou'd  be  content  with  Irish  Stuffs  for  the 
Furniture  of  their  Houses,  for  Gowns  and  Petticoats  for  themselves  and 


342       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

their  Daughters  ?  Upon  the  whole,  and  to  crown  all  the  rest,  Let  a  firm 
Resolution  be  taken,  by  Male  and  Female,  never  to  appear  with  one  single 
Shred  that  comes  from  England ;  And  let  all  the  People  say,  AMEN. 
I  hope  and  believe  nothing  could  please  his  Majesty  better  than  to  hear 
that  his  Loyal  Subjects  of  both  Sexes  in  this  Kingdom  celebrated  his 
Birth  Day  (now  approaching)  universally  clad  in  their  own  Manufacture. 
Is  there  Vertue  enough  left  in  this  deluded  People  to  save  them  from  the 
brink  of  Euin  ?  If  the  Men's  Opinion  may  be  taken,  the  Ladies  will 
look  as  handsome  in  Stuffs  as  in  Brocades  ;  and  since  all  will  be  equal, 
there  may  be  room  enough  to  employ  their  Wit  and  Fancy  in  chusing 
and  matching  of  Patterns  and  Colours. 

Four  years  later  he  wrote  the  famous  '  Drapier's 
Letters  '  against  the  proposal  to  introduce  Wood's  new 
copper  coinage  into  Ireland,  and  he  was  henceforth  re- 
garded as  the  great  national  hero  and  saviour  of  Ireland. 

When  he  returned  from  England  in  1726,  bells  were  rung,  bonfires 
lighted,  and  a  guard  of  honour  escorted  him  to  the  deanery.  Towns 
voted  him  their  freedom,  and  received  him  like  a  prince.  When  Walpole 
spoke  of  arresting  him,  a  prudent  friend  told  the  minister  that  the  mes- 
senger would  require  a  guard  of  10,000  soldiers. 

In  1729  he  wrote  his  '  Modest  Proposal  for  Preventing 
the  Children  of  Poor  People  in  Ireland  from  being  a 
Burden  to  their  Parents  or  Country,'  which  is  the  most 
terrible  of  all  his  satires. 

I  have  been  assured  by  a  very  knowing  American  of  my  acquaintance 
in  London  that  a  young  healthy  Child,  well-nurs'd,  is,  at  a  Year  old,  a 
most  delicious,  nourishing,  and  wlwlesome  Food,  whether  stewed,  roasted, 
baked,  or  boyled  ;  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  it  will  equally  serve  in  8 
Fricassee  or  a  Ragoust. 

A  Child  will  make  two  Dishes  at  an  Entertainment  for  Friends ;  and 
when  the  Family  dines  alone,  the  fore  or  hind  Quarter  will  make  a  rea- 
sonable Dish,  and  seasoned  with  a  little  Pepper  or  Salt,  will  be  very 
good  boiled  on  the  fourth  Day,  especially  in  Winter. 

I  "grant  this  Food  will  be  somewhat  dear,  and  therefore  very  proper 
for  Landlords,  who,  as  they  have  already  devoured  most  of  the  Parents, 
seem  to  have  the  best  Title  to  the  Children. 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  343 

Those  who  are  more  thrifty  (as  I  must  confess  the  Times  require) 
may  flay  the  Carcase  ;  the  Skin  of  which,  artificially  dressed,  will  make 
admirable  Gloves  for  Ladies,  and  Summer  Boots  for  fine  Gentlemen. 

During  this  period  Swift  also  wrote  the  delightful 
book  *  Gulliver's  Travels,'  the  manuscript  of  which  work 
he  brought  to  England  in  1726.  It  was  published  the 
next  year,  and  it  gained  immediate  popularity.  Cynics 
and  philosophers,  simple  people  and  children,  all  were 
delighted  with  it.  The  first  part,  the  Voyage  to  Lilliput, 
is  a  satirical  picture  of  the  Court  of  George  L,  the  premier 
Flimnap  is  Sir  Kobert  Walpole,  the  parties  of  the  High- 
Heels  and  the  Low-Heels  are  the  Tories  and  the  Whigs, 
the  Big-Endians  and  the  Little-Endians  are  the  Protes- 
tants and  Papists. 

Swift  thus  describes  the  Emperor  of  Lilliput : 

He  is  taller  by  almost  the  breadth  of  my  Nail,  than  any  of  his  Court, 
which  alone  is  enough  to  strike  an  Awe  into  the  Beholders.  His  Fea- 
tures are  strong  and  masculine,  with  an  Austrian  Lip  and  arched  Nose ; 
his  Complexion  olive,  his  Countenance  erect,  his  Body  and  Limbs  well- 
proportioned,  all  his  Motions  graceful,  and  his  Deportment  majestick. 

He  held  his  Sword  drawn  in  his  Hand  to  defend  himself,  if  I  should 
happen  to  break  loose  ;  it  was  almost  three  inches  long  ;  the  Hilt  and 
Scabbard  were  gold  enriched  with  Diamonds.  His  Voice  was  shrill,  but 
very  clear  and  articulate,  and  I  could  distinctly  hear  it  when  I  stood  up. 

In  the  second  part,  the  voyage  to  Brobdingnag,  the 
satire  is  less  apparent,  but  the  fun  and  waggery  are 
greater  than  ever.  Swift  thus  describes  Glumdalclitch, 
the  kindhearted  girl  who  tended  Gulliver  so  carefully. 

My  Mistress  had  a  Daughter  of  nine  Years  old,  a  Child  of  towardly 
Parts  for  her  Age,  very  dexterous  at  her  Needle,  and  skilful  in  dressing 
her  Baby.  Her  Mother  and  she  contrived  to  fit  up  the  Baby's  Cradle 
for  me  against  Night.  The  Cradle  was  put  into  a  small  Drawer  of  a 
Cabinet,  and  the  Drawer  placed  upon  a  Hanging  shelf  for  fear  of  the  Bats, 


344      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

She  made  me  seven  Shirts,  and  some  other  Linen  of  as  fine  Cloth 
as  could  be  got,  which  indeed  was  coarser  than  Sackcloth  ;  and  these 
she  constantly  washed  for  me  with  her  own  Hands.  She  was  likewise 
my  School  Mistress  to  teach  me  the  Language.  When  I  pointed  to 
anything,  she  told  me  the  Name  of  it  in  her  own  Tongue,  so  that  in  a 
few  Days  I  was  able  to  call  for  whatever  I  had  a  mind  to.  She  was  very 
good-natur'd,  and  not  above  forty  Feet  high,  being  little  for  her  Age. 

The  third  and  fourth  parts  of  the  Travels  are  not 
nearly  so  pleasing,  and  in  them  Swift  was  indulging  that 
misanthropy  which  was  becoming  in  him  a  disease.  In 
writing  to  Pope  in  1725,  he  begs  him  to  *  give  the  world 
one  lash  the  more  '  for  his  sake. 

I  have  ever  hated  all  Nations,  Professions,  and  Communities ;  and 
all  my  love  is  towards  Individuals ;  for  instance,  I  hate  the  Tribe  of 
Lawyers,  but  I  love  Counsellor  such  a  one,  and  Judge  such  a  one.  'Tis 
so  with  Physicians  (I  will  not  speak  of  my  own  Trade),  Soldiers,  English, 
Scotch,  French,  and  the  rest. 

But  principally  I  hate  and  detest  that  animal  called  Man,  although 
I  heartily  love  John,  Peter,  Thomas,  and  so  forth.  This  is  the  system 
upon  which  I  have  governed  myself  many  years,  and  so  I  shall  go  on 
till  I  have  done  with  them.  Upon  this  great  foundation  of  Misanthropy 
the  whole  building  of  my  Travels  is  erected. 

The  description  which  Swift  gives  of  the  Struldbrugs, 
the  poor  creatures  in  Luggnagg  who  can  never  die,  is  a 
terrible  one. 

They  commonly  acted  like  Mortals  till  about  thirty  Years  old,  after 
which,  by  degrees,  they  grew  melancholy  and  dejected,  increasing  in  both 
till  they  came  to  fourscore.  Then  they  had  not  only  all  the  Follies  and  In- 
firmities of  other  old  Men,  but  many  more  which  arose  from  the  dreadful 
Prospects  of  never  dying.  They  were  not  only  Opinionative,  Peevish, 
Covetous,  Morose,  Vain,  Talkative,  but  uncapable  of  Friendship  and  dead 
to  all  natural  Affections,  which  never  descended  below  their  Grandchil- 
dren. Envy  and  impotent  Desires  are  their  prevailing  Passions.  But 
those  Objects,  against  which  their  Envy  seems  principally  directed,  are 
the  Vices  of  the  younger  sort,  and  the  Deaths  of  the  old.  By  reflecting 
on  the  former  they  find  themselves  cut  off  from  all  possibility  of  Pleasure ; 


JONATHAN  SWIFT  345 

and  whenever  they  see  a  Funeral,  they  lament  and  repine  that  others  are 
gone  to  an  Harbour  of  Kest  to  which  they  themselves  can  never  hope  to 
arrive. 

Swift  wrote  no  more  great  works,  and  after  Stella's 
death  he  became  more  and  more  weary  of  life.  He  dis- 
charged the  duties  of  his  office  with  unfailing  regularity, 
and  although  he  was  rigidly  economical  in  his  personal 
expenditure,  he  was  bountiful  to  the  poor.  He  possessed 
a  few  genial  friends,  such  as  Sheridan  and  Delany,  in 
whose  society  he  took  pleasure,  and  he  continued  to 
correspond  with  Bolingbroke  and  Pope. 

In  1731  he  wrote  a  curious  poem  on  his  own  death, 
from  which  a  few  verses  may  be  extracted. 

The  time  is  not  remote  when  I 
Must  by  the  course  of  nature  die  ; 
When  I  foresee  my  special  friends 
Will  try  to  find  their  private  ends  : 
And  though  'tis  hardly  understood 
Which  way  my  death  can  do  them  good, 
Yet  thus,  methinks,  I  hear  them  speak  : 
See  how  the  dean  begins  to  break ; 
Poor  gentleman !  he  droops  apace, 
You  plainly  find  it  in  his  face. 
That  old  vertigo  in  his  head 
Will  never  leave  him  till  he's  dead. 
Besides,  his  memory  decays  ; 
He  recollects  not  what  he  says  ; 
He  cannot  call  his  friends  to  mind  ; 
Forgets  the  place  where  last  he  dined ; 
Plies  you  with  stories  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
He  told  them  fifty  times  before. 
How  does  he  fancy  we  can  sit 
To  hear  his  out-of -fashion  wit  ? 
For  poetry  he's  past  his  prime  ; 
He  takes  an  hour  to  find  a  rhyme ; 
His  fire  is  out,  his  wit  decayed, 
His  fancy  sunk,  his  muse  a  jade, 


346     HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

I'd  have  him  throw  away  his  pen  : — 
But  there's  no  talking  to  some  men. 
Behold  the  fatal  day  arrive  ! 
How  is  the  dean  ?  he's  just  alive. 
Now  the  departing  prayer  is  read  ; 
He  hardly  breathes — The  dean  is  dead. 
Before  the  passing  bell  begun, 
The  news  through  half  the  town  has  run. 
Oh  1  may  we  all  for  death  prepare  ! 
What  has  he  left  ?  and  who's  his  heir  ? 
I  know  no  more  than  what  the  news  is  ; 
'Tis  all  bequeathed  to  public  uses. 
To  public  uses  !  there's  a  whim  ! 
What  has  the  public  done  for  him  ? 
Mere  envy,  avarice,  and  pride  ; 
He  gave  it  all— but  first  he  died. 

And  he  closes  the  poem  with  the  lines- 
He  gave  the  little  wealth  he  had 
To  build  a  house  for  fools  and  mad  ; 
To  show  by  one  satiric  touch 
No  nation  wanted  it  so  much. 

The  last  few  years  of  his  life  were  unutterably  sad. 
He  suffered  agonies  of  bodily  pain,  and  except  for  brief 
intervals  his  reason  left  him.  Death  at  last  came  as  a 
relief  in  October  1745. 

In  power  of  intellect  Swift  was  the  greatest  of  the 
writers  of  this  age.  His  prose  has  not  the  charm  of 
Addison's  finest  passages,  but  in  its  terse  irony  there  is 
a  concentrated  force  such  as  Addison  never  reached. 
His  poetry  like  his  prose  is  perfectly  unadorned. 
His  lines  are  charged  with  wit  and  meaning,  but 
they  lack  the  grace  and  beauty  of  Pope's.  Unhappily 
some  of  the  poems  are  indescribable  in  their  coarseness. 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDISON    347 


THE   ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND   ADDISON 

THE  '  Tatler '  and  the  '  Spectator '  are  the  best  monu- 
ments of  the  lifelong  friendship  of  Kichard  Steele  and 
Joseph  Addison.  The  two  friends  were  born  in  the  same 
year,  1672,  the  former  in  Dublin,  the  latter  in  a  country 
parsonage  in  Wiltshire. 

Of  Steele' s  father  little  is  known  except  that  he  died 
when  the  boy  was  young. 

The  first  Sense  of  Sorrow  I  ever  knew  was  upon  the  Death  of  my 
Father,  at  which  Time  I  was  not  quite  Five  Years  of  Age  ;  but  was  rather 
amazed  at  what  all  the  House  meant,  than  possessed  with  a  real  Under- 
standing why  no  Body  was  willing  to  play  with  me.  I  remember  I  went 
into  the  Boom  where  his  Body  lay,  and  my  Mother  sate  weeping  alone 
by  it.  I  had  my  Battledore  in  my  Hand,  and  fell  a  beating  the  Coffin 
and  calling  Papa  ;  for,  I  know  not  how,  I  had  some  slight  Idea  that  he 
was  locked  up  there. 

My  Mother  catched  me  in  her  Arms ;  and,  transported  beyond  all 
Patience  of  the  silent  Grief 'she  was  before  in,  she  almost  smothered  me 
in  her  Embraces  ;  and  told  me  in  a  Flood  of  Tears,  '  Papa  could  not  hear 
me,  and  would  play  with  me  no  more,  for  they  were  going  to  put  him 
under  Ground,  whence  he  could  never  come  to  us  again.'  She  was  a 
very  beautiful  Woman,  of  a  noble  Spirit,  and  there  was  a  Dignity  in  her 
Grief  amidst  all  the  Wildness  of  her  Transport;  which,  methought, 
struck  me  with  an  Instinct  of  Sorrow,  that,  before  I  was  sensible  of  what 
it  was  to  grieve,  seized  my  very  Soul,  and  has  made  Pity  the  Weakness 
of  my  Heart  ever  since.1 

In  1684,  Steele  became  a  scholar  in  the  Charterhouse, 
and  there  began  his  friendship  with  Addison,  and  in  due 
course  they  proceeded  to  Oxford.  Addison 's  father  was 
now  Dean  of  Lichfield,  and  Steele  was  a  favourite  visitor, 
and  has  drawn  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  dean. 

1  'Tatler,' No.  181. 


348       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

I  remember,  among  all  my  Acquaintance,  but  one  Man  whom  I  have 
thought  to  live  with  his  Children  with  Equanimity  and  a  good  Grace. 
He  had  three  Sons  and  one  Daughter,  whom  he  bred  with  all  the  Care 
imaginable  in  a  liberal  and  ingenuous  Way.  The  Boys  behaved  them- 
selves very  early  with  a  manly  Friendship  ;  and  their  Sister,  instead  of 
the  gross  Familiarities,  and  impertinent  Freedoms  in  Behaviour  usual  in 
other  Houses,  was  always  treated  by  them  with  as  much  Complaisance 
as  any  other  young  Lady  of  their  Acquaintance. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  Pleasure  to  visit,  or  sit  at  a  Meal,  in  that 
Family.  I  have  often  seen  the  old  Man's  Heart  flow  at  his  Eyes  with 
Joy  upon  Occasions  which  would  appear  indifferent  to  such  as  were 
Strangers  to  the  Turn  of  his  Mind  ;  but  a  very  slight  Accident,  wherein 
he  saw  his  Children's  Goodwill  to  one  another,  created  in  him  the  God- 
like pleasure  of  loving  them  because  they  loved  each  other.1 

About  1694  Steele,  who  was  ever  impulsive,  suddenly 
quitted  the  university  and  enlisted  as  a  trooper  in  the 
Life  Guards,  a  regiment  in  which  many  sons  of  gentlemen 
served,  and  he  rose  before  long  to  be  ensign  and  then 
captain. 

In  1701  he  wrote  and  published  a  little  religious  work 
called  '  The  Christian  Hero'— 

with  a  design  principally  to  fix  upon  his  own  Mind  a  strong  Impression 
of  Virtue  and  Beligion,  in  opposition  to  a  stronger  Propensity  towards 
unwarrantable  Pleasures,  and  in  hopes,  that  a  Standing  Testimony 
against  himself,  and  the  eyes  of  the  World  (that  is  to  say)  of  his  Ac- 
quaintance upon  him  in  a  new  light  might  curb  his  Desires,  and  make 
him  ashamed  of  understanding  and  seeming  to  feel  what  was  Virtuous 
and  living  so  quite  contrary  a  Life. 

Then  in  the  same  year  he  wrote  his  first  comedy, 
'  The  Funeral/  and  he  gives  a  somewhat  amusing  ac- 
count of  the  reasons  that  moved  him  thereto. 

Finding  himself  slighted,  instead  of  being  encouraged  for  his  Declara- 
tions as  to  Beligion,  it  was  now  incumbent  upon  him  to  enliven  his 

1  «  Tatler,'  No.  235. 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDISON  349 

Character,  for  which  Eeason  he  writ  the  Comedy  called  The  Funeral, 
in  which  (tho'  full  of  incidents  that  move  Laughter)  Virtue  and  Vice 
appear  just  as  they  ought  to  do. 

Two  other  comedies,  *  The  Lying  Lover '  and  '  The 
Tender  Husband,'  soon  followed,  and  in  all  of  them  there 
are  many  scenes  of  light  and  innocent  gaiety. 

Meanwhile  Addison  had  become  Fellow  of  Magdalen, 
had  written  verses  which  the  great  Dryden  praised,  and 
had  become  known  to  Somers  and  Montague,  King  Wil- 
liam's chief  ministers.  Through  their  interest  he  obtained 
in  1699  a  grant  of  300Z.  a  year  to  enable  him  to  travel, 
and  he  visited  France,  Italy,  Switzerland,  Germany,  and 
Holland,  and  returned  to  England  at  the  end  of  1703. 
While  on  his  travels  he  wrote  to  Montague  a  fine  poetical 
epistle,  describing  the  delight  he  felt  in  visiting  scenes 
renowned  in  ancient  song  and  story. 

Poetick  Fields  encompass  me  around, 
And  still  I  seem  to  tread  on  Classick  ground ; 
For  here  the  Muse  so  oft  her  Harp  has  strung, 
That  not  a  Mountain  rears  its  Head  unsung ; 
Kenown'd  in  Verse  each  shady  Thicket  grows, 
And  every  Stream  in  Heav'nly  Numbers  flows. 

On  his  return  to  England  Addison  published  his 
'Eemarks  on  various  Parts  of  Italy,'  dedicating  it  to 
Lord  Somers ;  but  his  friends  were  no  longer  in  power, 
and  for  a  little  time  he  lived  in  obscurity,  lodging,  if  we 
may  trust  Pope's  account,  '  up  three  pairs  of  stairs  over 
•a  small  shop.' 

From  this  obscurity  he  emerged  in  the  following  year 
after  writing  '  The  Campaign,'  a  poem  celebrating  Marl- 
borough's  great  victory  at  Blenheim.  It  has  been  called 


350      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

a  gazette  in  rhyme,  and  not  unjustly,  for  the  narrative 
is  unimpassioned  and  unadorned ;  but  the  description  of 
Marlborough  in  the  crisis  of  the  battle  is  very  fine,  and 
the  simile  of  the  angel  of  the  storm  was  universally  ad- 
mired. 

So  when  an  Angel  by  Divine  Command 
With  rising  Tempests  shakes  a  guilty  Land, 
Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past, 
Calm  and  Serene  he  drives  the  furious  Blast ; 
And,  pleas'd  th'  Almighty's  Orders  to  perform, 
Bides  in  the  Whirlwind  and  directs  the  Storm. 

As  a  reward  he  was  appointed  Commissioner  of 
Appeals  in  succession  to  the  philosopher,  John  Locke, 
next  became  Under- Secretary  of  State,  and  in  1708  went 
to  Ireland  as  Secretary  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant. 

He  had  by  this  time  gained  the  warm  friendship  of 
Swift,  and  after  his  return  to  England  Swift  writes  to 
him — 

If  you  will  come  over  again  when  you  are  at  leisure,  we  will  raise  an 
army  and  make  you  King  of  Ireland.  Can  you  think  so  meanly  of  a 
kingdom  as  not  to  be  pleased  that  every  creature  in  it,  who  hath  one 
grain  of  worth,  has  a  veneration  for  you  ? 

Good  fortune  had  also  fallen  on  Steele,  for  in  1706  he 
was  appointed  Gazetteer  with  a  salary  of  300/.,  and  in 
September  1707,  after  a  short  but  very  ardent  courtship, 
he  was  married  to  Miss  Mary  Scurlock,  his  *  dear  Prue,' 
and  a  long  series  of  his  letters  to  her  has  been  preserved. 
They  reveal  very  clearly  to  us  the  warm-hearted,  impul- 
sive, improvident  lover  and  husband  that  he  was.  He 
afterwards  published  some  of  his  love-letters  with  slight 
alterations  in  the  '  Spectator,'  and  the  following  is  one 
which  was  written  after  the  wedding-day  had  been  fixed. 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDISON   351 

Madam —  It  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  World  to  be  in  Love  and  yet 
attend  businesse.  As  for  me  all  that  speake  to  me  find  me  out,  and  I 
must  Lock  myself  up,  or  other  people  will  do  it  for  me. 

A  Gentleman  ask'd  me  this  morning  what  news  from  Lisbon,  and  I 
answer'd  '  She's  exquisitely  handsome.'  Another  desir'd  to  know  when 
I  had  been  last  at  Hampton  Court.  I  reply'd,  '  'Twill  be  on  Tuesday 
come  se'n  night.'  Prethee  allow  me  at  least  to  kisse  your  hand  before 
that  day,  that  my  mind  may  be  in  some  composure.  Oh  Love 

A  thousand  Torments  dwell  about  thee, 
Yet  who  would  Live  to  Live  without  thee  ? 

Methinks  I  could  write  a  Volume  to  you,  but  all  the  Language  on 
earth  would  fail  in  saying  how  much,  and  with  what  disinterested  passion 
I  am  Ever  Yours, 

EICHD.  STEELE. 

Married  life  brought  the  need  for  an  increase  of  in- 
come, and  Steele's  experience  as  editor  of  the  Gazette 
turned  his  thoughts  to  the  starting  of  a  paper,  and  the 
famous  '  Tatler  '  appeared  on  April  12,  1709.  In  the 
first  number  he  unfolds  the  scope  and  purpose  of  his  new 
venture. 

I  shall  from  Time  to  Time  report  and  consider  all  Matters  of  what 
Kind  so-ever  that  shall  occur  to  me,  and  publish  such  my  Advices  and 
Eeflections  every  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Saturday  in  the  Week  for  the 
Convenience  of  the  Post.  I  resolve  to  have  something  which  may  be  of 
Entertainment  to  the  Fair  Sex,  in  Honour  of  whom  I  have  invented  the 
Title  of  this  Paper. 

All  Accounts  of  Gallantry,  Pleasure,  and  Entertainment,  shall  be 
under  the  Article  of  White's  Chocolate-House ;  Poetry  under  that  of 
Will's  Coffee-House ;  Learning  under  the  Title  of  Grecian  ;  Foreign  and 
Domestick  News  you  will  have  from  Saint  James's  Coffee-House,  and 
what  else  I  have  to  offer  on  any  other  Subject  shall  be  dated  from  my 
own  apartment. 

The  early  papers  are  entirely  Steele's,  and  they  con- 
tain some  of  his  most  characteristic  work.  In  No.  4 
there  is  an  entertaining  description  of  two  rival  beauties, 


352      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Clarissa  and  Chloe,  and  in  the  same  number  there  is  a 
ludicrous  piece  of  theatrical  intelligence  dated  from  Will's 
Coffee-house. 

We  hear  Mr.  Penkethman  has  removed  his  ingenious  company  of 
Strollers  to  Greenwich.  But  other  Letters  from  Deptford  say,  the  com- 
pany is  only  making  thither,  and  not  yet  settled ;  but  that  several 
Heathen  Gods  and  Goddesses  which  are  to  descend  in  Machines  landed 
at  the  King's -Head  Stairs  last  Saturday.  Venus  and  Cupid  went  on  foot 
from  thence  to  Greenwich  ;  Mars  got  drunk  in  the  Town,  and  broke  his 
landlord's  head,  for  which  he  sat  in  the  Stocks  the  whole  Evening,  but 
Mr.  Penkethman  giving  Security  that  he  should  do  nothing  this  ensuing 
Summer,  he  was  set  at  liberty. 

Addison  was  at  this  time  in  Ireland,  and  knew  nothing 
of  his  friend's  new  enterprise,  but  he  speedily  detected 
him  and  soon  became  a  contributor.  No  one  was  readier 
than  Steele  himself  to  acknowledge  the  invaluable  aid 
which  Addison  rendered,  and  in  the  preface  to  the  col- 
lected edition  of  the  '  Tatler  '  he  says : — 

I  have  only  one  gentleman,  who  will  be  nameless,  to  thank  for  any 
frequent  Assistance  to  me,  which  indeed  it  would  have  been  barbarous 
in  him  to  have  denyed  to  one  with  whom  he  has  lived  in  an  Intimacy 
from  Childhood,  considering  the  great  Ease  with  which  he  is  able  to 
despatch  the  most  entertaining  Pieces  of  this  Nature.  This  good  Office 
he  performed  with  such  Force  of  Genius,  Humour,  Wit  and  Learning, 
that  I  fared  like  a  distressed  Prince,  who  calls  in  a  powerful  Neighbour 
to  his  Aid  ;  I  was  undone  by  my  Auxiliary ;  when  I  had  once  called  him 
in,  I  could  not  subsist  without  Dependance  on  him. 

Addison's  papers  in  the  '  Tatler '  are  full  of  the  deli- 
cate strokes  of  sly  humour  in  which  he  was  without  a 
rival.  From  many  others  may  be  selected  Nos.  155, 158, 
163,  which  contain  the  descriptions  of  '  The  Political 
Upholsterer,'  '  Tom  Folio,'  the  book  broker,  and  '  Ned 
Softly,'  the  small  poet.  The  following  extract  is  the 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDISON   353 

opening  description  of  '  The  Political  Upholsterer,'  and 
the  character  is  very  pleasantly  developed  in  this  and 
in  later  numbers  : — 

There  lived  some  Years  since,  within  my  Neighbourhood,  a  very 
grave  Person,  an  Upholsterer,  who  seemed  a  Man  of  more  than  ordinary 
Application  to  Business.  He  was  a  very  early  Riser  and  was  often 
abroad  two  or  three  hours  before  any  of  his  Neighbours.  He  had  a  par. 
ticular  Carefulness  in  the  knitting  of  his  Brows,  and  a  kind  of  Impatience 
in  all  his  Motions,  that  plainly  discovered  he  was  always  intent  on 
Matters  of  Importance.  Upon  my  Enquiry  into  his  Life  and  Conversa- 
tion, I  found  him  to  be  the  greatest  Newsmonger  in  our  Quarter ;  that 
he  rose  before  Day  to  read  the  Post-Man  ;  and  that  he  would  take  two 
or  three  Turns  to  the  other  End  of  the  Town  before  his  Neighbours  were 
up,  to  see  if  there  were  any  Dutch  Mails  come  in.  He  had  a  Wife  and 
several  Children  ;  but  was  much  more  inquisitive  to  know  what  passed 
in  Poland  than  in  his  own  Family,  and  was  in  greater  Pain  and  Anxiety 
of  Mind  for  King  Augustus'  Welfare  than  that  of  his  nearest  Relations. 
He  looked  extremely  thin  in  a  Dearth  of  News,  and  never  enjoyed  him- 
self in  a  Westerly  Wind.  This  indefatigable  kind  of  Life  was  the  Ruin 
of  his  Shop ;  for  about  the  Time  that  his  favourite  Prince  left  the  Crown 
of  Poland  he  broke  and  disappeared. 

Yet  after  all  the  '  Tatler '  was  mainly  the  work  of  Steele. 
Out  of  271  papers  he  contributed  188  to  Addison's  42,  and 
he  first  sketched  the  outlines  which  Addison  filled  in  with 
such  full  perfection.  His  papers  on  women  are  especially 
beautiful,  and  from  many  others  may  be  selected  No.  84, 
with  its  description  of  Damia  and  Clindamira  dancing ; 
No.  95,  a  description  of  a  visit  to  a  happy  married  couple ; 
and  No.  114,  in  which  the  death  of  the  loving  wife  is 
described.  It  is  said  that  Steele  broke  down  in  writing 
this  last  pathetic  scene,  and  Addison  finished  the  number. 
His  descriptions  of  children  are  equally  charming,  and 
one  short  extract  may  be  given  from  No.  95  referred  to 

above. 

A  A 


354       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

On  a  sudden  we  were  alarmed  with  the  Noise  of  a  Drum,  and  imme- 
diately entered  my  little  Godson  to  give  me  a  Point  of  War.  His  Mother, 
between  Laughing  and  Chiding,  would  have  put  him  out  of  the  Boom  ; 
but  I  would  not  part  with  him  so.  I  found  upon  Conversation  with  him, 
though  he  was  a  little  noisy  in  his  Mirth,  that  the  Child  had  excellent 
Parts,  and  was  a  great  Master  of  all  the  Learning  on  t'other  Side  Eight 
Years  old.  I  perceived  him  a  very  great  Historian  in  Aesop's  Fables  : 
But  he  frankly  declared  to  me  his  Mind,  that  he  did  not  delight  in  that 
Learning,  because  he  did  not  believe  they  were  true  ;  for  which  Reason 
I  found  he  had  very  much  turned  his  Studies,  for  about  a  Twelvemonth 
past,  into  the  Lives  and  Adventures  of  Don  Bellianis  of  Greece,  Guy  of 
Warwick,  the  Seven  Champions,  and  other  Historians  of  that  Age. 

The  final  number  of  the  '  Tatler '  came  out  on  Janu- 
ary 2, 1711,  and  Steele  bids  farewell  to  his  readers  in  his 
own  name  instead  of  that  of  Isaac  Bicker  staff,  Esquire, 
which  he  had  hitherto  used  and  which  he  had  borrowed 
from  Swift.  The  poet  Gay  tells  us  that 

his  disappearance  seemed  to  be  bewailed  as  some  general  calamity. 
Everyone  wanted  so  agreeable  an  amusement,  and  the  Coffee-houses 
began  to  be  sensible  that  the  Esquire's  Lucubrations  alone  had  brought 
them  more  customers  than  all  their  other  News  Papers  put  together. 

The  premature  ending  of  the  '  Tatler '  seems  to  have 
been  partly  occasioned  by  Steele's  indiscreet  meddling 
with  politics,  and  two  months  later  on  March  1,  1711,  the 
1  Spectator  '  was  started,  a  paper  from  which  politics 
were  to  be  completely  excluded,  and  which  was  to  appear 
on  six  instead  of  three  days  in  the  week.  The  preceding 
year  had  been  an  eventful  one  for  the  two  friends.  The 
Whig  ministry  had  fallen,  Harley  and  St.  John  were  in 
power,  and  Steele  had  lost  his  Gazetteership,  and  Addison 
was  no  longer  a  minister.  They  could  therefore  devote 
their  full  energies  to  the  '  Spectator,'  and  out  of  a  total 
of  555  numbers  Addison  wrote  274  and  Steele  236, 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDIS  ON    355 

The  opening  number  was  Addison's,  and  in  it  he  drew 
the  portrait  of  the  '  Spectator.' 

There  is  no  place  of  general  Kesort  wherein  I  do  not  often  make  my 
Appearance ;  sometimes  I  am  seen  thrusting  my  Head  into  a  Bound  of 
Politicians  at  Will's,  and  listening  with  great  Attention  to  the  Narratives 
that  are  made  in  those  little  Circular  Audiences.  Sometimes  I  smoak  a 
Pipe  at  Child's  ;  and  while  I  seem  attentive  to  nothing  but  the  Postman 
overhear  the  Conversation  of  every  Table  in  the  Koom.  I  appear  on 
Sunday  nights  at  St.  James's  Coffee  House,  and  sometimes  join  the  little 
Committee  of  Politicks  in  the  Inner  Koom  as  one  who  comes  there  to 
hear  and  improve.  My  Face  is  likewise  very  well  known  at  the  Grecian, 
the  Cocoa  Tree,  and  in  the  Theaters  both  of  Drury  Lane  and  the  Hay- 
Market.  I  have  been  taken  for  a  Merchant  upon  the  Exchange  for  above 
these  ten  Years,  and  sometimes  pass  for  a  Jew  in  the  Assembly  of  Stock 
jobbers  at  Jonathan's.  In  short,  wherever  I  see  a  Cluster  of  People,  I 
always  mix  with  them,  tho'  I  never  open  my  Lips  but  in  my  own  Club. 

The  second  paper  was  by  Steele  and  contains  the  first 
sketch  of  Sir  Koger  de  Coverley,  Will  Honeycomb, 
Captain  Sentry,  and  the  other  friends  whose  characters 
were  so  pleasantly  developed  in  the  progress  of  the 
work. 

Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  Addison's  masterpiece.  The 
portrait  is  inimitable,  he  touched  and  retouched  it,  and 
every  stroke  added  new  beauty.  Out  of  the  numerous 
papers  in  which  the  old  knight  is  described,  we  may 
select  as  specially  beautiful  No.  106,  the  description  of 
his  country  seat ;  No.  112,  Sir  Roger  at  church ;  No. 
329,  his  visit  to  Westminster  Abbey;  and  No.  517,  the 
account  of  the  knight's  death.  In  reference  to  this  last 
paper  we  are  told — 

Mr.  Addison  was  so  fond  of  this  character  that  a  little  before  he  laid 
down  the  Spectator  (foreseeing  that  some  nimble  gentleman  would  catch 
up  his  pen  the  moment  he  quitted  it)  he  said  to  an  intimate  friend,  with 


356      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

a  certain  warmth  in  his  expression,  which  he  was  not  often  guilty  of, 
By  God  !  I'll  kill  Sir  Roger,  that  nobody  else  may  murder  him.1 

The  old  familiar  topics  of  the  *  Tatler '  were  taken  up 
in  the  new  paper,  follies  and  extravagances  of  dress  and 
behaviour  were  gently  ridiculed,  and  papers  of  a  more 
serious  nature  on  literary  and  religious  subjects  were 
frequently  added.  No.  10  is  a  graceful  setting  forth  by 
Addison  of  the  scope  of  the  '  Spectator,'  and  a  short  ex- 
tract may  be  given  from  it. 

I  shall  endeavour  to  enliven  Morality  with  Wit,  and  to  temper  Wit 
with  Morality,  that  my  Readers  may,  if  possible,  both  ways  find  their 
account  in  the  Speculation  of  the  Day.  It  was  said  of  Socrates  that  he 
brought  Philosophy  down  from  Heaven  to  inhabit  among  Men  :  and  I 
shall  be  ambitious  to  have  it  said  of  me  that  I  have  brought  Philosophy 
out  of  Closets  and  Libraries,  Schools  and  Colleges,  to  dwell  in  Clubs  and 
Assemblies,  at  Tea-tables,  and  in  Coffee-houses. 

The '  Spectator  '  came  to  an  end  on  December  6, 1712, 
for  no  very  apparent  reasons,  and  greatly  to  the  regret 
of  its  numerous  readers.  It  had  many  successors  and 
imitators  but  no  equal,  and  it  yields  to  us  almost  as  much 
delight  as  to  its  first  readers. 

As  we  read  in  these  delightful  volumes  of  the  '  Tatler  '  and '  Spectator,' 
the  past  age  returns,  the  England  of  our  ancestors  is  revivified.  The 
Maypole  rises  in  the  Strand  again  in  London  ;  the  churches  are  thronged 
with  daily  worshippers  ;  the  beaux  are  gathering  in  the  coffee-houses ; 
the  gentry  are  going  to  the  Drawing-room  ;  the  ladies  are  thronging  to 
the  toy-shops  ;  the  chairmen  are  jostling  in  the  streets  ;  the  footmen 
are  running  with  links  before  the  chariots,  or  fighting  round  the  theatre 
doors.- 

We  must  hasten  rapidly  over  the  further  course  of 
the  two  friends'  lives.  In  1713  Addison's  play  of  *  Cato  * 

1  Eustace  Budgell,  2  Thackeray. 


THE  ESSAYISTS— STEELE  AND  ADDISON  357 

was  performed  with  immense  and  universal  applause, 
though  it  now  appears  a  work  of  only  moderate  merit. 
Meanwhile  Steele  had  started  the  '  Guardian,'  which  ran 
from  March  to  October  1713,  the  number  of  papers  being 
175,  and  of  these  Addison  wrote  50  and  Steele  90,  and 
Pope  and  Gay  and  Berkeley  were  also  contributors.  Many 
of  the  papers  are  very  fine,  but  as  a  whole  the  '  Guardian ' 
is  distinctly  inferior  to  the  '  Spectator.' 

No  sooner  had  the  '  Guardian '  ceased  than  Steele 
started  the  *  Englishman,'  with  a  more  distinctly  political 
aim,  and  57  numbers  were  published  between  October 
1713  and  February  1714.  He  also  wrote  a  fiery  political 
pamphlet  called  '  The  Crisis,'  and  was  elected  member  of 
Parliament  for  Stockbridge  in  February  1714,  but  was 
expelled  from  parliament  next  month.  In  June  of  the 
same  year  Addison  revived  the  *  Spectator,'  and  80 
numbers  were  issued  before  it  finally  ceased  in  December. 

Meanwhile  Queen  Anne  had  died,  and  King  George 
landed  in  England  in  September.  The  Tory  leaders 
were  flying,  Addison  became  once  more  a  minister,  and 
Steele  was  knighted  and  received  a  lucrative  post  as  super- 
visor of  Drury  Lane  Theatre. 

In  the  following  year  Addison  started  the '  Freeholder,' 
and  55  numbers  were  issued  between  December  1715 
and  June  1716.  It  was  after  the  Scotch  rebellion,  and 
the  paper  was  intended  to  strengthen  the  established 
government,  and  it  is  considered  to  be  the  best  of  all 
Addison's  political  writings.  Johnson  says  of  it,  '  In 
argument  he  had  many  equals ;  but  his  humour  was 
singular  and  matchless.  Bigotry  itself  must  be  delighted 
with  the  Tory  Fox-hunter.' 


358      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1716  Addison  married  the  Countess  of  Warwick, 
but  whether  it  added  to  his  happiness  is  doubtful.  His 
health  was  now  failing,  and  in  June  1719  he  died. 

His  old  friend  Steele  lived  for  ten  years  longer,  and 
tried  many  literary  ventures,  none  of  which  was  very 
successful.  '  Town  Talk,'  *  Chit  Chat,'  and  *  The  Tea- 
Table,'  were  the  titles  of  papers  started  by  him,  but  apart 
from  Addison  he  appeared  not  to  succeed.  In  1722  he 
wrote  a  new  play  '  The  Conscious  Lovers,'  which  has 
some  of  the  happy  touches  of  his  earlier  plays. 

In  1729  he  died  at  Caermarthen. 


ALEXANDER  POPE 

POPE  was  born  in  May  of  the  year  of  Eevolution  1688, 
at  the  time  when  his  great  contemporary  Swift  was  leaving 
the  university  and  entering  the  service  of  Sir  William 
Temple.  His  father  was  a  Eoman  Catholic  and  was  a 
draper  in  the  Strand,  but  he  had  made  a  comfortable 
fortune  and  retired  to  the  pretty  village  of  Binfield,  a  few 
miles  from  Windsor. 

The  little  Alexander  was  delicate  and  sickly,  but  he 
had  a  sweet  voice  and  a  gentle  nature,  and  he  was  tenderly 
loved  and  cared  for.  He  was  too  weakly  to  be  sent  to  a 
great  public  school,  and  his  education  was  not  very 
thorough.  But  he  dipped  for  himself  into  theology  and 
philosophy,  and  took  great  delight  in  English  poetry, 
especially  in  the  works  of  Spenser  and  Dryden. 

He  was  just  twelve  years  old  when  Dryden  died  on 


ALEXANDER  POPE  359 

May  Day  1700,  and  he  had  persuaded  his  friends  to  take 
him  once  to  see  the  great  poet  surrounded  by  his  admiring 
circle  in  Will's  coffee-house.  In  one  of  his  earliest  letters 
he  speaks  thus  of  Dry  den  :— 

I  was  not  so  happy  as  to  know  him,  Virgilium  tantum  vidi.  Had  I 
been  born  early  enough  I  must  have  known  and  loved  him. 

He  wrote  much  poetry  in  his  youth. 

As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 

I  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came. 

But  much  of^ihis  youthful  poetry  he  destroyed,  and 
the  '  Pastorals  '  which  were  his  earliest  published  poems 
have  little  merit  except  the  polish  and  melody  of  the 
verse. 

In  1711  he  published  the  *  Essay  upon  Criticism,' 
which  Addison  warmly  praised  in  the  *  Spectator,'  call- 
ing it  '  a  masterpiece  in  its  kind.' 

The  Observations  which  are  most  known  and  most  received  are  placed 
in  so  beautiful  a  Light  and  illustrated  with  such  apt  Allusions  that  they 
have  all  the  Graces  of  Novelty,  and  make  the  Eeader,  who  was  before 
acquainted  with  them,  still  more  convinced  of  their  Truth  and  Solidity. 

Dr.  Johnson  thought  Pope  never  wrote  anything 
finer,  and  of  one  part  he  says  '  the  comparison  of  a 
student's  progress  in  the  sciences  with  the  journey  of  a 
traveller  in  the  Alps  is  perhaps  the  best  that  English 
poetry  can  show.'  The  following  extract  gives  this  famous 
simile,  but  our  tastes  have  changed,  and  we  no  longer 
find  the  same  degree  of  pleasure  with  Addison  and  Johnson 
in  Pope's  brilliant  lines. 

A  little  Learning  is  a  dang'rous  thing  ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring  : 


360      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 
Fir'd  at  first  sight  with  what  the  Muse  imparts, 
In  fearless  youth  we  tempt  the  heights  of  Arts  ; 
While  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind 
Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind  ; 
But  more  advanc'd,  behold  with  strange  surprise 
New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise  ! 
So  pleas'd  at  first  the  tow'ring  Alps  we  try, 
Mount  o'er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky ; 
Th'  eternal  snows  appear  already  past, 
And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last : 
But,  those  attained,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthen 'd  way, 
Th'  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wandering  eyes, 
Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise ! 

In  the  next  year  1712  appeared  the  dainty  little  poem, 
the  *  Kape  of  the  Lock,'  which  many  regard  as  Pope's 
masterpiece.  Lord  Petre,  a  nobleman  of  Queen  Anne's 
court,  with  too  daring  gallantry  cut  a  lock  of  hair  from 
the  head  of  a  court  beauty,  Miss  Fermor,  and  an  un- 
pleasantness ensued  between  the  two  families,  which  was 
happily  appeased  by  Pope's  delicate  and  sportive  treat- 
ment of  the  incident. 

In  the  poem  as  we  now  have  it,  the  fairy  Ariel  and 
many  other  sprites  appear  jealously  guarding  the  lady 
and  dreading  the  approach  of  some  stroke  of  fate,  the 
nature  of  which  is  hidden  from  them.  But  this  super- 
natural machinery  of  spirits  was  an  afterthought  of 
Pope's,  and  was  added  by  him  in  the  edition  of  1714, 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  Addison,  who  thought  the  poem 
as  it  stood  in  its  first  shape  was  '  a  delicious  little 
thing.' 

The  lady  is  thus  described  as  she  goes  out  as  one 


ALEXANDER  POPE  361 

of  a  pleasure   party  on   the   Thames   from  Hampton 
Court. 

Not  with  more  glories,  in  th'  etherial  plain, 

The  Sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  main, 

Than,  issuing  forth,  the  rival  of  his  beams 

Lanch'd  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thames. 

Fair  Nymphs,  and  well-drest  Youths  around  her  shone, 

But  every  eye  was  fix'd  on  her  alone. 

On  her  white  breast  a  sparkling  Cross  she  wore, 

Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  Infidels  adore. 

Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose, 

Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfix'd  as  those  ; 

Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends, 

Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 

Bright  as  the  sun  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike ; 

And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 

Might  hide  her  faults,  if  Belles  had  faults  to  hide ; 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  'em  all. 

After  the  return  to  the  palace  the  company  play  cards 
and  then  drink  coffee,  and  the  baron  commits  his  daring 
theft.  Another  lady  of  the  company  has  mischievously 
given  him  a  pair  of  scissors. 

So  Ladies  in  Romance  assist  their  Knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 
He  takes  the  gift  with  rev'rence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends ; 
This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her  head. 
Swift  to  the  Lock  a  thousand  Sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair  ; 
And  thrice  they  t witch 'd  the  diamond  in  her  ear ; 
Thrice  she  look'd  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near. 
The  Peer  now  spreads  the  glitt'ring  Forfex  wide, 
T'  inclose  the  Lock  ;  now  joins  it,  to  divide. 
Ev'n  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  clos'd, 
A  wretched  Sylph  too  fondly  interpos'd  ; 


362      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Fate  urg'd  the  sheers,  and  cut  the  Sylph  in  twain, 
(But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again) 
The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for  ever  ! 

In  1713  Pope  began  his  greatest  literary  undertaking, 
the  translation  of  Homer.  He  had  gained  the  enthusi- 
astic friendship  of  Swift,  who  was  now  in  the  height  of 
his  power  and  influence  with  the  Queen's  ministers,  and 
in  Bishop  Rennet's  diary,  under  date  Nov.  2, 1713,  there 
occurs  the  following  entry :  — 

When  I  came  to  the  queen's  ante-chamber  to  wait  before  prayers, 
Dr.  Swift  was  the  principal  Man  of  talk  and  business,  and  acted  as 
master  of  requests.  He  instructed  a  young  nobleman  that  the  best  poet 
in  England  was  Mr.  Pope  (a  papist),  who  had  begun  a  translation  of 
Homer  into  English  verse,  for  which  he  must  have  them  all  subscribe  ; 
for,  says  he,  the  author  shall  not  begin  to  print  till  I  have  a  thousand 
Guineas  for  him. 

The  translation  was  a  magnificent  success,  and  Pope 
reaped  great  glory  and  profit  from  it.  The  six  volumes 
of  the  '  Iliad  '  were  almost  entirely  his  own  work,  and  the 
last  was  published  in  1720.  In  translating  the '  Odyssey  ' 
he  availed  himself  very  largely  of  the  help  of  two  univer- 
sity men,  Broome  and  Fenton,  and  he  gave  them  but 
niggardly  pay  for  their  labours.  For  himself  he  cleared 
nearly  nine  thousand  pounds,  and  he  could  say  with 
truth— 

Thanks  to  Homer  I  could  live  and  thrive, 
Indebted  to  no  prince  or  peer  alive. 

The  translation  is  by  no  means  a  perfect  one,  yet 
Gray  and  Johnson  and  Byron  greatly  admired  it,  and  it 
has  thrown  all  other  translations  of  Homer  into  the  shade. 
Old  Chapman's  version  is  picturesque  and  vivid,  but  it  is 


ALEXANDER  POPE  363 

rugged  and  has  little  of  Homer's  melody,  and  Cowper's 
is  correct  but  lacking  in  spirit. 

Pope's  translation  is  brilliant,  like  his  finest  poems, 
and  Gibbon  declares  it  has  every  merit  except  that  of 
faithfulness  to  the  original.  Pope's  knowledge  of  Greek 
was  very  imperfect,  and  he  took  many  liberties  with  the 
text,  and  the  great  critic  Bentley  was  not  far  wrong 
when  he  said,  c  a  pretty  poem,  Mr.  Pope,  but  you  must 
not  call  it  Homer.' 

The  following  passage  is  a  good  example  of  Pope's 
melodious  verse.  It  is  the  famous  night  scene  at  the 
close  of  the  eighth  book. 

As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night, 
O'er  Heaven's  clear  azure  spreads  her  sacred  light, 
When  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene, 
And  not  a  cloud  o'ercasts  the  solemn  scene ; 
Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 
And  stars  unnumbered  gild  the  glowing  pole ; 
O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellower  verdure  shed, 
And  tip  with  silver  every  mountain's  head  : 
Then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies ; 
The  conscious  swains,  rejoicing  in  the  sight, 
Eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  useful  light. 
So  many  flames  before  proud  Ilion  blaze, 
And  lighten  glimmering  Xanthus  with  their  rays. 
The  long  reflections  of  the  distant  fires 
Gleam  on  the  walls,  and  tremble  on  the  spires  : 
A  thousand  piles  the  dusky  horrors  gild, 
And  shoot  a  shady  lustre  o'er  the  field. 
Full  fifty  guards  each  flaming  pile  attend, 
Whose  umber 'd  arms  by  fits  thick  flashes  send ; 
Loud  neigh  the  coursers  o'er  their  heaps  of  corn, 
And  ardent  warriors  wait  the  rising  morn. 

The  success  of  the  Homer  made  Pope  a  compara- 
tively rich  man,  and  soon  after  1715  he  moved  from 


364      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Bintield  with  his  father  and  mother  to  Twickenham,  and 
bought  the  pretty  villa  which  his  name  has  made  so 
famous.  His  father  died  in  1718,  but  his  mother  lived 
till  1738,  and  Pope's  tender  love  for  her  is  one  of  the 
pleasantest  points  in  his  character. 

Me,  let  the  tender  office  long  engage, 

To  rock  the  Cradle  of  reposing  Age, 

With  lenient  arts  extend  a  Mother's  breath, 

Make  Languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  Bed  of  Death ; 

Explore  the  Thought,  explain  the  asking  Eye, 

And  keep  a  while  one  Parent  from  the  Sky. 

The  garden  attached  to  the  villa  was  about  five  acres 
in  extent,  and  '  Pope  twisted  and  twirled  and  rhymed 
and  harmonised  this  till  it  appeared  two  or  three  sweet 
little  lawns,  opening  and  opening  beyond  one  another, 
and  the  whole  surrounded  with  impenetrable  woods.' l 

The  public  road  divided  his  grounds,  and  Pope  formed 
a  tunnel  under  it,  and  decorated  the  tunnel  with  mirrors 
and  fossils  and  rare  minerals,  and  called  it  his  Grotto,  a 
place  of  calm  retirement  for  himself  and  his  most  cherished 
friends. 

All  the  distant  din  the  world  can  keep 
Rolls  o'er  my  Grotto,  and  but  soothes  my  sleep. 
There,  my  retreat  the  best  Companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  Statesmen  out  of  place. 
There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  Feast  of  Reason,  and  the  Flow  of  Soul : 
And  He,  whose  lightning  pierc'd  th'  Iberian  Lines, 
Now  forms  my  Quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  Vines, 
Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain, 
Almost  as  quickly  as  he  conquer'd  Spain. 

The  last  four  lines  refer  to  the  Earl  of  Peterborough, 

1  Horace  Walpole. 


ALEXANDER  POPE  365 

the  gallant  hero  of  the  Spanish  war,  who  in  his  youth 
as  Lord  Mordaunt  had  been  a  friend  of  John  Locke,  and 
who  was  now  one  of  Pope's  most  devoted  admirers. 

The  villa  was  besieged  by  a  crowd  of  unsuccessful 
writers  who  begged  for  the  great  author's  encouragement 
or  advice,  and  Pope  gives  an  amusing  description  of  the 
way  these  scribblers  plagued  him  : — 

Shut,  shut  the  door,  good  John !  fatigu'd  I  said, 
Tye  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead  ; 
The  Dog-star  rages  !  nay,  'tis  past  a  doubt, 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus,  is  let  out : 
•  Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 
What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide  ? 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  thro'  my  Grot  they  glide  ; 
By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge ; 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  the  barge. 
No  place  is  sacred,  not  the  Church  is  free ; 
Ev'n  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath-day  to  me. 

To  Twickenham  also  came  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu  after  her  first  sojourn  abroad,  and  for  a  time 
Pope  continued  her  most  enthusiastic  friend  and  admirer, 
but  after  a  while  admiration  turned  to  dislike,  and  some 
of  Pope's  most  spiteful  verses  are  written  on  '  Sappho,' 
that  is  Lady  Mary.  Her  friend  Lord  Hervey,  an  elegant 
trifler  of  the  Horace  Walpole  type,  was  still  more  bitterly 
attacked  under  the  name  of  *  Sporus,'  and  he  and  Lady 
Mary  retaliated  in  verses  which  pitilessly  mock  the  poet's 
personal  deformities. 

If  none  with  Vengeance  yet  thy  Crimes  pursue 
Or  give  thy  manifold  Affronts  their  due  ; 
If  Limbs  unbroken,  Skin  without  a  Stain, 
Unwhipt,  unblanketed,  unkick'd,  unslain, 
That  wretched  little  Carcase  you  retain  ; 


366      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  Keason  is,  not  that  the  World  wants  Eyes, 
But  thou'rt  so  mean  ;  they  see,  and  they  despise. 
When  fretful  Porcupine,  with  ranc'rous  Will, 
From  mounted  Back  shoots  forth  a  harmless  Quill, 
Cool  the  Spectators  stand ;  and  all  the  while 
Upon  the  angry  little  Monster  smile. 
Thus  'tis  with  thee  :  while  impotently  safe 
You  strike  unwounding,  we  unhurt  can  laugh. 
Wlio  but  must  laugh,  this  bully  wlien  lie  seest 
A  puny  insect  shiv'ring  at  a  breeze  ? 
One  over-match'd  by  ev'ry  Blast  of  Wind, 
Insulting  and  provoking  all  Mankind. 

Poor  Pope  was  indeed  a  most  sickly  and  helpless  little 
mortal,  and  coarse  and  bitter  assailants,  of  whom  he  had 
plenty,  would  find  material  enough  in  his  personal  ap- 
pearance for  their  satires. 

His  stature  was  so  low,  that,  to  bring  him  to  a  level  with  common 
tables,  it  was  necessary  to  raise  his  seat.  He  was  so  weak  as  to  stand 
in  perpetual  need  of  female  attendance ;  extremely  sensible  of  cold,  so 
that  he  wore  a  kind  of  fur  doublet,  under  a  shirt  of  a  very  coarse  warm 
linen  with  fine  sleeves. 

When  he  rose,  he  was  invested  in  boddice  made  of  stiff  canvas, 
being  scarcely  able  to  hold  himself  erect  till  they  were  laced ;  and  he 
then  put  on  a  flannel  waistcoat.  One  side  was  contracted.  His  legs 
were  so  slender  that  he  enlarged  their  bulk  with  three  pair  of  stockings, 
which  were  drawn  on  and  off  by  the  maid ;  for  he  was  not  able  to  dress 
or  undress  himself,  and  neither  went  to  bed  nor  rose  without  help.  His 
weakness  made  it  very  difficult  for  him  to  be  clean.1 

Pope  speaks  pathetically  of  *  that  long  disease,  my 
life,'  and  his  weakness  made  him  suspicious  and  irritable 
and  spiteful.  His  success  had  aroused  the  envy  and 
malice  of  a  host  of  vulgar  writers,  like  Dennis  and  Gil- 
don  and  Oldmixon  and  others,  whose  names  live  on  in 
the  *  Dunciad,'  the  poem  in  which  Pope  strives  to  crush 

them. 

1  Johnson. 


ALEXANDER  POPE  367 

This  famous  poem  is  somewhat  tedious  to  read  now, 
in  spite  of  its  brilliancy  and  wit ;  but  when  it  first  ap- 
peared and  while  the  miserable  writers  whom  it  attacked 
so  pitilessly  were  living,  the  interest  which  it  excited  was 
intense.  Four  imperfect  editions  appeared  in  1728,  and 
a  more  complete  one  in  the  following  year.  To  some  of 
the  editions  there  is  prefixed  a  narrative  in  which  we  are 
told— 

On  the  day  the  book  was  first  vended,  a  crowd  of  authors  besieged 
the  shop ;  entreaties,  advices,  threats  of  law  and  battery,  nay,  cries  of 
treason,  were  all  employed  to  hinder  the  coming  out  of  the  *  Dunciad ; ' 
on  the  other  side,  the  booksellers  and  hawkers  made  as  great  efforts  to 
procure  it.  What  could  a  few  poor  authors  do  against  so  great  a  majority 
as  the  publick  ?  There  was  no  stopping  a  current  with  a  finger ;  so  out 
it  came. 

The  poem  seems  to  be  suggested  by  the  '  MacFleck- 
noe '  of  Dry  den,  but  the  coarse  abuse  which  is  showered 
upon  the  dunces  is  more  in  the  vein  of  Swift  in  his 
1  Battle  of  the  Books  '  and  in  the  «  Tale  of  a  Tub.' 

Colley  Gibber,  an  actor  and  playwright,  a  gay  and 
profligate  old  fellow,  comes  in  for  the  greatest  share  of 
Pope's  attack.  He  is  represented  sitting  in  his  garret 
in  Grub  Street. 

Swearing  and  supperless  the  Hero  sate ; 
Blasphem'd  his  Gods,  the  Dice,  and  damn'd  his  Fate ; 
Then  gnaw'd  his  Pen,  then  dash'd  it  on  the  ground, 
Sinking  from  thought  to  thought,  a  vast  profound  ! 
Plung'd  for  his  sense,  but  found  no  bottom  there, 
Yet  wrote  and  flounder'd  on  in  mere  despair. 

But  soon  the  Goddess  of  Dulness  enters  with  all  her 
train,  and  chooses  Gibber  to  be  King  of  the  Dunces. 

Thou,  Gibber  !  thou,  his  Laurel  shalt  support, 
Folly,  my  son,  has  still  a  Friend  at  Court, 


368      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Lift  up  your  gates,  ye  Princes,  see  him  come  1 
Sound,  sound,  ye  Viols  ;  be  the  Cat-call  dumb. 
Bring,  bring  the  madding  Bay,  the  drunken  Vine  ; 
The  creeping,  dirty,  courtly  Ivy  join. 
And  thou  !  his  Aid-de-Camp,  lead  on  my  sons, 
Light  arm'd  with  Points,  Antitheses,  and  Puns. 
Let  Bawdry,  Billingsgate,  my  daughters  dear, 
Support  his  front,  and  Oaths  bring  up  the  rear. 

In  the  second  book,  in  a  parody  of  Milton's  splendid 
lines,  Gibber  is  described  sitting  in  state  to  witness  the 
sports  and  trials  of  skill  of  his  subjects. 

High  on  a  gorgeous  seat,  that  far  outshone 
Henley's  gilt  Tub,  or  Fleckno's  Irish  Throne, 
Or  that  where  on  her  Curls  the  Public  pours, 
All-bounteous,  fragrant  Grains  and  Golden  show'rs, 
Great  Gibber  sate  :— 

The  games  are  held  in  the  Strand,  close  to  Holywell 
Street,  and  first  there  is  a  race  of  rival  booksellers. 
Bernard  Lintot,  Pope's  own  bookseller,  contends  for  the 
prize  with  Curll,  an  impudent  pirate  bookseller,  to  whom 
he  owed  many  a  grudge. 

Swift  as  a  bard  the  bailiff  leaves  behind, 
He  left  huge  Lintot,  and  out-strip't  the  wind, 
As  when  a  dab-chick  waddles  through  the  copse 
On  feet  and  wings,  and  flies,  and  wades,  and  hops ; 
So  lab'ring  on,  with  shoulders,  hands  and  head, 
Wide  as  a  windmill  all  his  figure  spread, 
With  arms  expanded  Bernard  rows  his  state, 
And  left-legg'd  Jacob  seems  to  emulate. 

But  as  Curll  runs  he  slips  in  a  pool  of  filth  and  Lintot 
passes  him : — 

Loud  shout  the  band, 
And  '  Bernard  !  Bernard  ! '  rings  through  all  the  Strand. 

But  Curll  is  up  again  in  an  instant. 


ALEXANDER   POPE  369 

Vig'rous  he  rises  ;  from  th'  effluvia  strong 
Imbibes  new  life,  and  scours  and  stinks  along ; 
Ee-passes  Lintot,  vindicates  the  race, 
Nor  heeds  the  brown  dishonours  of  his  face. 

The  bards  and  scribblers  next  compete,  and  the  scene 
is  moved  further  eastward — 

To  where  Fleet-ditch,  with  disemboguing  streams, 
Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to  Thames, 
The  King  of  Dykes  !  than  whom  no  sluice  of  mud 
With  deeper  sable,  blots  the  silver  flood. 
'  Here  strip,  my  children  !  here  at  once  leap  in, 
Here  prove  who  best  can  dash  thro'  thick  and  thin, 
And  who  the  most  in  love  of  dirt  excel, 
Or  dark  dexterity  of  groping  well.' 

Other  games  and  trials  of  skill  follow,  but  they  are 
too  coarse  for  quotation,  and  Pope  in  writing  them  dis- 
honours himself  as  well  as  the  miserable  scribblers  whom 
he  describes. 

Towards  the  close  of  his  life  Pope  added  to  the 
*  Dunciad  '  a  fourth  book,  which  is  not  so  much  an  attack 
on  particular  individuals  as  a  general  satire  on  the 
philosophy  and  science  and  theology  of  the  time.  The 
closing  lines  have  been  greatly  admired,  and  Thackeray 
says  that  in  them  '  Pope  shows  himself  the  equal  of  all 
poets  of  all  times.' 

She  comes  !  she  comes  !  the  sable  Throne  behold 

Of  Night  Primaeval,  and  of  Chaos  old ! 

Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 

And  all  its  varying  Kainbows  die  away. 

Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 

The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 

As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 

The  sick'ning  stars  fade  off  th'  etherial  plain ; 

As  Argus'  eyes  by  Hermes'  wand  opprest, 

Clos'd  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 

BB 


370      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  Art  goes  out,  and  all  is  Night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  Casuistry  heap'd  o'er  her  head  ! 
Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heav'n  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence, 
And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense  ! 
See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly  ! 
In  vain  1  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Eeligion  blushing  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  Morality  expires. 
Nor  public  Flame  nor  private,  dares  to  shine ; 
Nor  human  Spark  is  left,  nor  Glimpse  divine ! 
Lo  !  thy  dread  Empire,  Chaos !  is  restor'd ; 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word  : 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch  !  lets  the  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  Darkness  buries  All. 

After  the  completion  of  the  three  books  of  the  '  Dun- 
ciad  '  Pope's  next  great  work  was  the  '  Essay  on  Man,' 
a  series  of  four  epistles  addressed  to  Bolingbroke,  who 
indeed,  it  would  seem,  had  suggested  the  plan  and  prompted 
Pope  in  the  execution  of  the  work. 

The  late  Lord  Bathurst  repeatedly  assured  me  that  he  had  read  the 
whole  scheme  of  the  Essay  on  Man  in  the  handwriting  of  Bolingbroke, 
and  drawn  up  in  a  series  of  propositions  which  Pope  was  to  versify  and 
illustrate.1 

And  Bolingbroke  in  his  letters  to  Pope  traces  the 
outline  which  he  wishes  his  friend  to  fill  up. 

My  thoughts,  in  what  order  soever  they  flow,  shall  be  communicated 
to  you  just  as  they  pass  through  my  mind,  just  as  they  use  to  be  when 
we  converse  together  on  these,  or  any  other  subjects ;  when  we  saunter 
alone,  or  as  we  have  often  done  with  good  Arbuthnot,  and  the  jocose 
dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  among  the  multiplied  scenes  of  your  little  garden. 
That  theatre  is  large  enough  for  my  ambition. 


Warton. 


ALEXANDER  POPE  371 

The  '  Essay'  is  intended,  like  Milton's  great  poem, 
*  to  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man,'  but  to  execute 
worthily  such  a  task  was  beyond  Pope's  powers.  Neither 
his  imagination  nor  his  philosophy  was  sufficiently  pro- 
found, and  the  famous  poem  is  little  more  than  a  render- 
ing into  brilliant  verse  of  the  commonplaces  of  the  philo- 
sophy of  Locke  and  Shaftesbury  and  Bolingbroke. 

Scattered  through  the  poem  are  many  of  those  fine 
lines  which  everyone  remembers,  and  which  have  become 
as  it  were  proverbs  in  the  language.  The  following  are 
a  few,  and  there  are  many  more  : — 

Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast ; 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 

Know  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan ; 
The  proper  Study  of  Mankind  is  Man. 

Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen. 

The  great  truth  which  the  poet  seeks  to  establish  is 
'  that,  of  all  possible  systems,  infinite  wisdom  has  formed 
the  best ;  and  that  the  seeming  defects  and  blemishes  in 
the  universe  conspire  to  its  general  beauty. ' l  Some 
portion  of  this  truth,  if  it  be  a  truth,  is  set  forth  in  the 
following  noble  lines  : — 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  Whole, 
Whose  Body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  Soul ; 
That,  chang'd  thro'  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  Earth,  as  in  th'  Aethereal  frame, 
Warms  in  the  Sun,  refreshes  in  the  Breeze, 
Glows  in  the  Stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  Trees, 
Lives  thro'  all  Life,  extends  thro'  all  Extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 

1  Warton. 

B  B  2 


372      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair,  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  Man  that  mourns, 
As  the  rapt  Seraph  that  adores  and  burns : 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all. 

The  poem  is  closed  with  an  address  to  Bolingbroke, 
which  is  very  beautiful  and  pathetic. 

Come  then,  my  Friend  !  my  Genius  !  come  along ; 
Oh  Master  of  the  Poet,  and  the  Song ! 
And  while  the  Muse  now  stoops,  or  now  ascends, 
To  Man's  low  Passions,  or  their  glorious  Ends, 
Teach  me  like  thee,  in  various  nature  wise. 
To  fall  with  Dignity,  with  Temper  rise ; 
Form'd  by  thy  Converse,  happily  to  steer 
From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe, 
Correct  with  spirit,  eloquent  with  ease, 
Intent  to  reason,  or  polite  to  please. 
Oh  !  while  along  the  stream  of  Time  thy  Name 
Expanded  flies,  and  gathers  all  its  fame, 
Say,  shall  my  little  Bark  attendant  sail, 
Pursue  the  Triumph,  and  partake  the  Gale  ? 
And  shall  this  vetse  to  future  age  pretend 
Thou  wert  my  Guide,  Philosopher,  and  Friend  ? 
That,  urg'd  by  thee,  I  turn'd  the  tuneful  Art 
From  Sounds  to  Things,  from  Fancy  to  the  Heart ; 
For  Wit's  false  Mirror  held  up  Nature's  Light ; 
Shew'd  erring  Pride,  Wliatever  is,  is  Right. 

Pope  continued  his  labours  to  the  last.  After  the 
'  Essay  on  Man '  he  wrote  the  *  Moral  Essays,'  a  series 
of  poetical  epistles  on  the  'Characters  of  Men/  the 
'  Characters  of  Women/  and  on  the  '  Use  of  Kiches.' 
In  these  works  are  some  of  his  most  finely  finished 
sketches,  notably  that  of  the  death  scene  of  the  witty 
and  profligate  Duke  of  Buckingham,  of  the  gay  court 
of  Charles  II. 


BISHOP    BERKELEY  373 

In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with  mat  half -hung 
The  floors  of  plaister,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
On  once  a  flock  bed,  but  repair'd  with  straw, 
With  tape-tyed  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw, 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies — alas  !  how  chang'd  from  him, 
That  life  of  pleasure,  and  that  soul  of  whim  1 
Gallant  and  gay,  in  Cliveden's  proud  alcove, 
The  bow'r  of  wanton  Shrewsbury  and  love ; 
Or  just  as  gay,  at  Council,  in  a  ring 
Of  mimick'd  Statesmen,  and  their  merry  King. 

In  1742  Pope  added  the  fourth  book  to  the  '  Dunciad,' 
and  two  years  later  the  end  came,  and  in  May,  at  the 
age  of  fifty-six,  he  passed  away  as  if  in  a  sleep. 


BISHOP   BERKELEY 

GEOKGE  BERKELEY,  the  subtle  and  imaginative  philosopher 
of  a  prosaic  and  unphilosophical  age,  was  born  in  1685 
in  Kilkenny  on  the  banks  of  the  Nore.  The  vale  of  the 
Nore  is  beautiful,  and  its  scenery  was  well  fitted  to  feed 
and  stimulate  the  dreamy  nature  of  the  boy.  He  spent 
four  years  in  Kilkenny  school,  '  the  Eton  of  Ireland,' 
where  Swift  himself  had  been  a  scholar,  and  in  1700  he 
came  to  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  where  he  remained  for 
thirteen  years. 

Locke's  famous  Essay  was  one  of  the  textbooks  in 
use  at  the  university,  and  this  with  Plato's  Dialogues 
seems  to  have  been  Berkeley's  favourite  reading,  and  his 
earliest  writings  were  intended  to  further  develop  por- 
tions of  the  Essay  or  to  combat  parts  of  it  which  seemed 
to  him  to  be  erroneous. 


374       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1709  Berkeley  published  an  '  Essay  towards  a 
new  Theory  of  Vision,'  which  is  a  development  of  some 
passages  in  Locke's  second  book.  It  is  a  very  able  and 
original  piece  of  reasoning,  and  later  researches  have 
confirmed  the  truth  of  Berkeley's  views. 

In  the  next  year  he  published  his  '  Treatise  concern- 
ing the  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,'  in  which  he 
first  unfolded  his  great  doctrine  that  matter  does  not 
exist,  that  the  universe  consists  only  of  spirits  and  ideas, 
and  that  these  ideas  preserve  their  beauty  and  perma- 
nence and  order,  because  they  exist  also  in  the  mind  of 
God. 

It  is  an  Opinion  strangely  prevailing  amongst  Men  that  Houses, 
Mountains,  Rivers,  and,  in  a  word,  all  sensible  Objects,  have  an  Existence, 
Natural  or  Real,  distinct  from  their  being  perceived  by  the  Understanding. 
But  with  how  great  an  Assurance  and  Acquiescence  so  ever  this  Principle 
may  be  entertained  in  the  World  ;  yet,  whoever  shall  find  in  his  Heart  to 
call  it  in  Question,  may,  if  I  mistake  not,  perceive  it  to  involve  a  manifest 
Contradiction.  For  what  are  the  fore-mentioned  Objects  but  the  things 
we  perceive  by  Sense ;  and  what  do  we  perceive  besides  our  own  Ideas  or 
Sensations  ?  And  is  it  not  plainly  repugnant  that  any  one  of  these,  or  any 
Combination  of  them,  should  exist  unperceived  ? 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  we  know  nothing 
except  the  sensations  and  ideas  in  our  own  minds,  but  it 
is  generally  assumed  that  there  is  a  something,  we  know 
not  what,  an  unknown  material  substance  which  is  the 
cause  of  our  sensations.  ^But  this  assumption  Berkeley 
declares  to  be  most  unreasonable. 

Some  Truths  there  are  so  near  and  obvious  to  the  Mind  that  a  Man  need 
only  open  his  Eyes  to  see  them.  Such  I  take  this  Important  one  to  be, 
to  wit,  that  all  the  Choir  of  Heaven  and  Furniture  of  the  Earth,  in  a  word 
all  those  Bodies  which  compose  the  mighty  Frame  of  the  World,  have 
not  any  Subsistence  without  a  Mind,  that  their  Being  is  to  be  perceived 
or  known ;  that  consequently,  so  long  as  they  are  not  actually  perceived 


BISHOP  BERKELEY  375 

by  me,  or  do  not  exist  in  my  Mind,  or  that  of  any  other  created  Spirit, 
they  must  either  have  no  Existence  at  all,  or  else  subsist  in  the  Mind  of 
some  eternal  Spirit. 

In  a  work  published  a  few  years  later,  and  entitled 
'  Three  Dialogues  between  Hylas  and  Philonous,'  Ber- 
keley returns  to  this  point  and  labours  to  render  it  clearer 
and  more  acceptable. 

When  I  deny  sensible  Things  an  Existence  out  of  the  Mind,  I  do  not 
mean  my  Mind  in  particular,  but  all  Minds.  Now  it  is  plain  they  have 
an  Existence  exterior  to  my  Mind,  since  I  find  them  by  Experience  to  be 
independent  of  it.  There  is,  therefore,  some  other  Mind  wherein  they 
exist  during  the  Intervals  between  the  Times  of  my  perceiving  them :  As 
likewise  they  did  before  my  Birth,  and  would  do  after  my  supposed  An- 
nihilation. And  as  the  same  is  true  with  regard  to  all  other  finite 
created  Spirits,  it  necessarily  follows  there  is  an  Omnipresent  Eternal 
Mind,  which  knows  and  comprehends  all  things,  and  exhibits  them  to 
our  View  in  such  a  manner  and  according  to  such  Eules  as  He  Himself 
hath  ordained,  and  are  by  us  termed  the  laws  of  nature. 

Berkeley  believed  that  his  doctrine  if  accepted  would 
become  the  surest  safeguard  against  the  scepticism  and 
atheism  which  were  growing  so  rapidly  around  him. 

As  we  have  shewn  the  Doctrine  of  Matter  (or  corporeal  Substance)  to 
have  been  the  main  Pillar  and  Support  of  Scepticism,  so  likewise  upon 
the  same  Foundation  have  been  raised  all  the  impious  Schemes  of  Atheism 
and  Irreligion.  Nay,  so  great  a  difficulty  hath  it  been  thought  to  con- 
ceive Matter  produced  out  of  nothing,  that  the  most  celebrated  among 
the  ancient  Philosophers,  even  of  those  who  maintained  the  Being  of  a 
God,  have  thought  Matter  to  be  uncreated  and  co-eternal  with  him.  How 
great  a  Friend  material  Substance  hath  been  to  Atheists  in  all  Ages  were 
needless  to  relate.  All  their  monstrous  Systems  have  so  visible  and 
necessary  a  dependence  on  it,  that  when  this  Corner-stone  is  once  re- 
moved the  whole  Fabrick  cannot  choose  but  fall  to  the  Ground ;  insomuch 
that  it  is  no  longer  worth  while  to  bestow  a  particular  Consideration  on 
the  Absurdities  of  every  wretched  Sect  of  Atheists. 

In  1713  Berkeley  left  Ireland  and  did  not  return  for 


376     HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 
\ 

'eight  years.  He  came  to  London  and  was  welcomed  by 
his  countrymen,  Steele  and  Swift,  and  he  also  enjoyed 
the  friendship  of  Addison  and  Pope.  He  spent  several 
years  in  Italy,  and  his  letters  and  journals  give  pleasant 
pictures  of  Italian  scenes. 

In  1721  he  was  once  more  in  Ireland,  and  three  years 
later  he  was  made  Dean  of  Derry.  But  his  heart  was 
set  on  a  '  Scheme  for  converting  the  savage  Americans 
to  Christianity  by  a  College  to  be  erected  in  the  Summer 
Islands/  i.e.  the  Bermudas.  He  came  to  London  to  urge 
his  plans,  and  every  obstacle  yielded  to  the  charm  of  his 
eloquence  and  enthusiasm.  Subscriptions  poured  in  and 
a  royal  grant  of  20,OOOZ.  was  promised.  In  1728  he  set 
sail  for  America,  and  he  waited  in  Khode  Island  for  the 
royal  grant.  But  this  never  came,  and  in  1782  Berkeley 
was  once  more  in  Europe  with  his  generous  dream  un- 
realised. 

During  his  retreat  in  the  peaceful  solitudes  of  Rhode 
Island  he  wrote  '  Alciphron  ;  or,  the  Minute  Philosopher,' 
the  most  pleasing  and  popular  of  all  his  works,  though 
not  the  one  of  most  enduring  value.  It  is  a  series  of 
seven  dialogues,  in  which  the  growing  scepticism  and 
immorality  of  the  age  are  attacked.  The  minute  philo- 
sophers are  the  sceptics,  and  in  this  work  of  Berkeley's 
they  are  represented  by  Alciphron  and  Lysicles,  who 
speak  in  the  most  flippant  style. 

Alciphron.— As  to  the  Meditations  of  Scholars,  what  can  they  possibly 
be  good  for  ?  He  that  wants  the  proper  Materials  of  Thought,  may  think 
and  meditate  for  ever  to  no  purpose :  Those  Cobwebs  spun  by  Scholars 
out  of  their  own  Brains,  being  alike  unserviceable,  either  for  Use  or  Orna- 
ment. Proper  Ideas  or  Materials  are  only  to  be  got  by  frequenting  good 
Company.  I  know  several  Gentlemen  who,  since  their  Appearance  in  the 


BISHOP  BERKELEY 


377 


World,  have  spent  as  much  time  in  rubbing  off  the  rust  and  pedantry  of 
a  College  Education  as  they  had  done  before  in  acquiring  it. 

Lysicles. — I'll  undertake  a  Lad  of  fourteen,  bred  in  the  modern  way, 
shall  make  a  better  Figure  and  be  more  considered  in  any  Drawing-Boom 
or  Assembly  of  polite  People,  than  one  of  four-and-twenty  who  hath  lain 
by  a  long  time  at  School  and  College.  He  shall  say  better  things  in  a 
better  manner,  and  be  more  liked  by  good  Judges. 

'  Where  doth  he  pick  up  all  this  Improvement  ?  '  asks 
one  of  the  bystanders,  and  another  sarcastically  answers  : 

Where  our  grave  Ancestors  would  never  have  looked  for  it,  in  a  Draw- 
ing-Eoom,  a  Coffee  House,  a  Chocolate  House,  at  the  Tavern,  or  Groom 
Porter's.  In  these  and  the  like  fashionable  Places  of  Kesort  it  is  the 
Custom  for  polite  Persons  to  speak  freely  on  all  Subjects,  religious,  moral, 
or  political.  So  that  a  young  Gentleman  who  frequents  them  is  in  the  way 
of  hearing  many  instructive  Lectures,  seasoned  with  Wit  and  Kaillery,  and 
uttered  with  Spirit.  Three  or  four  Sentences  from  a  Man  of  quality,  spoke 
with  a  good  Air,  make  more  Impression  and  convey  more  Knowledge  than 
a  dozen  Dissertations  in  a  dry,  Academical  way.  You  may  now  com- 
monly see  (what  no  former  Age  ever  saw)  a  young  Lady,  or  a  Petit  Maitre, 
nonplus  a  Divine,  or  an  old-fashioned  Gentleman  who  hath  read  many 
a  Greek  and  Latin  Author,  and  spent  much  Time  in  hard  methodical 
Study. 

In  1734  Berkeley  was  made  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  and 
he  spent  eighteen  years  of  almost  unbroken  seclusion  in 
this  little  village  city  in  Cork. 

He  rose  constantly  between  three  and  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  summoned  his  family  to  a  lesson  on  the  base  viol  from  an  Italian 
master  he  kept  in  the  house  for  the  instruction  of  his  children,  though 
the  bishop  himself  had  no  ear  for  music.  He  spent  the  rest  of  the 
morning,  and  often  a  great  part  of  the  day,  in  Study ;  his  favourite 
author,  from  whom  many  of  his  notions  were  borrowed,  was  Plato. 

Cloyne,  though  it  gives  name  to  the  see,  is,  in  fact,  no  better  than  a 
village :  it  is  not  reasonable,  therefore,  to  expect  much  industry  or  in- 
genuity in  the  inhabitants.  Yet,  whatever  article  of  cloathing  they  could 
possibly  manufacture  there,  the  bishop  would  have  from  no  other  place ; 
and  chose  to  wear  ill  cloathes  and  worse  wigs,  rather  than  suffer  the 
poor  of  the  town  to  remain  unemployed. 


378       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Berkeley's  last  important  work  was  *  Siris,  a  Chain  of 
Philosophical  Eeflections  and  Inquiries  concerning  the 
Virtues  of  Tar  Water.'  The  bishop  had  learnt  the  use  of 
this  medicine  from  the  Indians  and  negroes  in  America, 
and  he  now  regarded  it  as  a  universal  remedy,  and  he 
relates  some  marvellous  cures  which  he  had  seen  effected 
by  its  means.  But  the '  Siris  '  contains  much  more  than 
this,  and  the  chain  of  reasoning  rises  by  gradual  ascents 
into  the  highest  regions  of  transcendental  philosophy. 

Berkeley's  last  days  were  spent  away  from  Ireland. 
Domestic  bereavements  had  made  Cloyne  distasteful  to 
him,  and  he  longed  to  give  up  his  bishopric  and  seek  a 
retreat  in  Oxford.  In  August  1752,  his  wishes  were 
realised,  and  he  enjoyed  a  few  months  of  quiet  literary 
work  in  Oxford,  but  in  the  following  January  his  life 
came  suddenly  and  silently  to  an  end. 


TWO  LETTER  WRITERS  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  One  of  the  most  de- 
lightful portions  of  old  French  literature  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  is  the  collection  of  letters  of  Madame  de 
Sevigne,  but  the  letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu 
are  fully  as  entertaining.  They  sparkle  with  wit  and 
pleasantry,  and  are  marked  too  by  a  robust  good  sense 
and  freedom  from  affectation. 

The  writer  was  born  in  1690,  and  was  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Kingston.  Her  father  was  a 
member  of  the  famous  Kit-Cat  club,  and  the  little  Lady 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU  379 

Mary  was  brought,  at  the  age  of  eight,  to  the  club,  and 
was  the  toast  of  the  evening. 

'  Pleasure,'  she  says,  '  was  too  poor  a  word  to  express  my  sensations. 
They  amounted  to  ecstasy.  Never  again  throughout  my  whole  life  did  I 
pass  so  happy  an  evening.' 

She  lost  her  mother  at  a  very  early  age,  but  she  was 
carefully  educated  under  the  superintendence  of  Bishop 
Burnet.  In  1712  she  married  Edward  Wortley  Montagu, 
and  four  years  later  he  was  sent  on  an  embassy  to  Con- 
stantinople. His  wife  accompanied  him,  and  she  wrote 
a  series  of  most  interesting  letters,  a  few  of  them  to  the 
poet  Pope,  who  was  then  her  friend,  but  most  of  them  to 
her  sister,  the  Countess  of  Mar. 

She  describes  some  of  the  hardships  of  travelling. 

The  kingdom  of  Bohemia  is  the  most  desert  of  any  I  have  seen  in 
Germany.  The  villages  are  so  poor,  and  the  post-houses  so  miserable, 
that  clean  straw  and  fair  water  are  blessings  not  always  to  be  met  with, 
and  better  accommodation  not  to  be  hoped  for.  Though  I  carried  my 
own  bed  with  me,  I  could  not  sometimes  find  a  place  to  set  it  up  in  ;  and 
I  rather  chose  to  travel  all  night,  as  cold  as  it  is,  wrapped  up  in  my  furs, 
than  go  into  the  common  stoves  which  are  filled  with  a  mixture  of  all 
sorts  of  ill  scents. 

In  one  of  her  letters  to  Pope  she  gives  a  delightful 
description  of  the  country  round  the  city  of  Adrianople. 

I  am  at  this  moment  writing  in  a  house  situated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hebrus,  which  runs  under  my  chamber  window.  My  garden  is  full  of 
cypress  trees,  upon  the  branches  of  which  several  couple  of  true  turtles 
are  saying  soft  things  to  one  another  from  morning  to  night. 

The  summer  is  already  far  advanced  in  this  part  of  the  world ;  and 
for  some  miles  around  Adrianople  the  whole  ground  is  laid  out  in  gardens, 
and  the  banks  of  the  rivers  are  set  out  with  rows  of  fruit  trees,  under 
which  all  the  most  considerable  Turks  divert  themselves  every  evening ; 
not  with  walking,  that  is  not  one  of  their  pleasures,  but  a  set  party  of 
them  choose  out  a  green  spot  where  the  shade  is  very  thick,  and  there 


380       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

they  spread  a  carpet  on  which  they  sit  drinking  their  coffee,  and  are 
generally  attended  by  some  slave  with  a  fine  voice,  or  that  plays  on  some 
instrument. 

The  young  lads  generally  divert  themselves  with  making  garlands 
for  their  favourite  lambs,  which  I  have  often  seen  painted  and  adorned 
with  flowers,  lying  at  their  feet  while  they  sung  or  played.  It  is  not 
that  they  ever  read  romances,  but  these  are  the  ancient  amusements 
here,  and  as  natural  to  them  as  cudgel  playing  and  foot-ball  to  our  British 
swains ;  the  softness  and  warmth  of  the  climate  forbidding  all  rough 
exercises,  which  were  never  so  much  as  heard  of  amongst  them,  and 
naturally  inspiring  a  laziness  and  aversion  to  labour  which  the  great 
plenty  indulges. 

She  then  tells  Pope  she  has  read  his  translation 
of  Homer  with  much  pleasure,  and  she  goes  on  to  describe 
the  old  Greek  customs  which  she  still  sees  around  her. 

The  snowy  veil  that  Helen  throws  over  her  face  is  still  fashionable ; 
and  I  never  see  half  a  dozen  of  old  bashaws  with  their  reverend  beards, 
sitting  basking  in  the  sun,  but  I  recollect  good  king  Priam  and  his  coun- 
sellors. 

Their  manner  of  dancing  is  certainly  the  same  that  Diana  is  said  to 
have  danced  on  the  banks  of  Eurotas.  The  great  lady  still  leads  the 
dance,  and  is  followed  by  a  troup  of  young  girls  who  imitate  her  steps, 
and,  if  she  sings,  make  up  the  chorus.  The  tunes  are  extremely  gay  and 
lively,  yet  with  something  in  them  wonderfully  soft.  The  steps  are  varied 
according  to  the  pleasure  of  her  that  leads  the  dance,  but  always  in 
exact  time,  and  infinitely  more  agreeable  than  any  of  our  dances,  at  least 
in  my  opinion.  I  sometimes  make  one  in  the  train,  but  am  not  skilful 
enough  to  lead ;  these  are  the  Grecian  dances,  the  Turkish  being  very 
different. 

In  another  letter  she  describes  the  practice  of  inocu- 
lating for  the  smallpox,  and  she  was  the  means  of  intro- 
ducing this  most  beneficial  practice  into  England. 

The  smallpox,  so  fatal  and  so  general  amongst  us,  is  here  entirely 
harmless  by  the  invention  of  ingrafting,  which  is  the  term  they  give  it. 
There  is  a  set  of  old  women  who  make  it  their  business  to  perform  the 
operation  every  autumn,  in  the  month  of  September,  when  the  great  heat 
is  abated.  People  send  to  one  another  to  know  if  any  of  their  family 


LADY  MARY   WORTLEY  MONTAGU          381 

has  a  mind  to  have  the  smallpox ;  they  make  parties  for  this  purpose, 
and  when  they  are  met  (commonly  fifteen  or  sixteen  together),  the  old 
woman  comes  with  a  nut-shell  full  of  the  matter  of  the  best  sort  of  small- 
pox, and  asks  what  vein  you  please  to  have  opened.  She  immediately 
rips  open  that  you  offer  to  her  with  a  large  needle  (which  gives  you 
no  more  pain  than  a  common  scratch),  and  puts  into  the  vein  as  much 
matter  as  can  lie  upon  the  head  of  her  needle,  and  after  that  binds  up 
the  little  wound  with  a  hollow  bit  of  shell ;  and  in  this  manner  opens 
four  or  five  veins. 

The  children,  or  young  patients,  play  together  all  the  rest  of  the  day, 
and  are  in  perfect  health  to  the  eighth.  Then  the  fever  begins  to  seize 
them,  and  they  keep  their  beds  two  days,  very  seldom  three.  They  have 
very  rarely  above  twenty  or  thirty  in  their  faces,  which  never  mark,  and 
in  eight  days'  time  they  are  as  well  as  before  their  illness. 

In  1718  Lady  Mary  returned  with  her  husband  to 
England,  and  in  response  to  Pope's  earnest  invitation 
she  became  his  neighbour  at  Twickenham.  But  after 
a  time  the  close  friends  became  bitter  enemies,  and  as 
each  possessed  a  witty  tongue  and  a  facile  pen,  they 
wrote  most  stinging  verses  upon  each  other. 

In  1739  Lady  Mary  went  abroad  once  more  and  lived 
alone  in  Italy,  sometimes  at  Venice,  or  Genoa,  or  Naples, 
but  chiefly  at  Louvere,  a  pleasant  place  on  the  lake  Iseo 
in  the  Milanese  territory.  From  thence  she  wrote  a 
series  of  interesting  letters,  chiefly  to  her  daughter,  the 
Countess  of  Bute. 

She  thus  describes  her  life  at  Louvere. 

I  generally  rise  at  six,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  breakfasted,  put  myself 
at  the  head  of  my  needle-women  and  work  with  them  till  nine.  I  then 
inspect  my  dairy,  and  take  a  turn  among  my  poultry,  which  is  a  very 
large  inquiry.  I  have  at  present  200  chickens,  besides  turkeys,  geese, 
ducks,  and  peacocks. 

At  eleven  o'clock  I  retire  to  my  books ;  I  dare  not  indulge  myself  on 
that  pleasure  above  an  hour.  At  twelve  I  constantly  dine,  and  sleep 
after  dinner  till  about  three.  I  then  send  for  some  of  my  old  priests, 


382       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

and  either  play  at  piquet  or  whist  till  'tis  cool  enough  to  go  out.  One 
evening  I  walk  in  my  wood  where  I  often  sup,  take  the  air  on  horse 
back  the  next,  and  go  on  the  water  the  third. 

She  was  eager  to  receive  any  notable  new  books  that 
appeared  in  England,  and  she  passed  shrewd  judgments 
upon  many  of  them. 

In  1761  Lady  Mary,  after  an  absence  of  twenty- two 
years,  returned  to  England,  but  died  the  next  year. 

Horace  Walpole's  letters  are  quite  as  entertaining 
as  those  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  but  they  have 
a  stronger  tincture  of  playful  malice,  and  we  do  not  find 
in  them  any  of  the  beautiful  descriptions  which  abound 
in  Lady  Mary's  letters. 

He  was  the  youngest  son  of  the  famous  statesman 
Sir  Eobert  Walpole,  was  born  in  1717,  and  lived  nearly 
to  the  end  of  the  century.  He  was  educated  at  Eton  and 
Cambridge,  and  in  1739  he  travelled  on  the  Continent  in 
company  with  the  poet  Gray  who  had  been  his  school- 
fellow. 

In  Paris  they  witnessed  the  funeral  of  a  Marshal  of 
France. 

A  long  procession  of  flambeaux  and  friars ;  no  plumes,  trophies, 
banners,  led  horses,  scutcheons,  or  open  chariots  ;  nothing  but  '  friars, 
white,  black,  and  grey,  with  all  their  trumpery.'  This  goodly  ceremony 
began  at  nine  at  night,  and  did  not  finish  till  three  this  morning ;  for 
each  church  they  passed,  they  stopped  for  a  hymn  and  holy  water.  By 
the  bye,  some  of  these  choice  monks  who  watched  the  body  while  it  lay 
in  state,  fell  asleep  one  night,  and  let  the  tapers  catch  fire  of  the  rich 
velvet  mantle,  lined  with  ermine  and  powdered  with  gold  flower-de-luces, 
which  melted  the  lead  coffin,  and  burnt  off  the  feet  of  the  deceased  before 
it  wakened  them. 

In  Florence  he  saw  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu, 


HORACE    W ALP  OLE  383 

who  was  now  fifty  years  old,  and  he  gives  a  most  unflatter- 
ing description  of  her. 

Did  I  tell  you  lady  Mary  Wortley  is  here  ?  She  laughs  at  my  lady  W., 
scolds  my  Lady  Pomfret,  and  is  laughed  at  by  the  whole  town.  Her 
dress,  her  avarice,  and  her  impudence,  must  amaze  anyone  that  never 
heard  her  name.  She  wears  a  foul  mob  that  does  not  cover  her  greasy, 
black  locks  that  hang  loose,  never  combed  or  curled ;  an  old  mazarine 
blue  wrapper,  that  gapes  open  and  discovers  a  canvass  petticoat.  Her 
face  swelled  violently  on  one  side,  partly  covered  with  a  plaister,  and 
partly  with  white  paint,  which  for  cheapness  she  has  bought  so  coarse 
that  you  would  not  use  it  to  wash  a  chimney. 

In  1741  he  was  back  in  London,  and  he  soon  after- 
wards entered  parliament.  He  witnessed  the  trial  and 
condemnation  of  the  Scotch  rebels  of  1745,  and  he  speaks 
thus  of  one  of  them  : — 

Old  Balmerino  keeps  up  his  spirits  to  the  same  pitch  of  gaiety.  In 
the  cell  at  Westminster  he  showed  lord  Kilmarnock  how  he  must  lay  his 
head ;  bid  him  not  winch,  lest  the  stroke  should  cut  his  skull  or  his 
shoulders  ;  and  advised  him  to  bite  his  lips.  As  they  were  to  return,  he 
begged  they  might  have  another  bottle  together,  as  they  should  never 
meet  any  more  till ,  and  then  pointed  to  his  neck. 

A  year  or  two  later  Walpole  bought  a  pretty  villa  at 
Strawberry  Hill  and  gathered  into  it  a  rare  collection  of 
books  and  pictures  and  curiosities.  He  thus  describes 
it:- 

It  is  a  little  play-thing  house,  the  prettiest  bawble  you  ever  saw.  It 
is  set  in  enamelled  meadows,  with  filigree  hedges. 

'  A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  roll'd, 
And  little  finches  wave  their  wings  in  gold.' 

Two  delightful  roads,  that  you  would  call  dusty,  supply  me  continually 
with  coaches  and  chaises  ;  barges,  as  solemn  as  barons  of  the  exchequer, 
move  under  my  window  ;  Bichmond:hill  and'Ham-walks  bound  my  pro- 
spect ;  but,  thank  God !  the  Thames  is  between  me  and  the  duchess  of 
Queensberry.  Dowagers,  as  plenty  as  flounders,  inhabit  all  around,  and 
Pope's  ghost  is  just  now  skimming  under  my  window  by  a  most  poetical 
moonlight. 


384        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

He  cordially  detested  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  who  was 
one  of  his  father's  opponents  and  supplanters,  and  he 
thus  describes  the  duke's  visit  to  Court  when  he  was  to 
be  prime  minister  in  1754 :— 

On  Friday  this  august  remnant  of  the  Pelhams  went  to  court  for  the 
first  time.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  cried  and  sunk  down  ;  the  yeo- 
men of  the  guard  were  forced  to  drag  him  up  under  the  arms.  When 
the  closet  door  opened,  he  flung  himself  at  his  length  at  the  king's  feet, 
sobbed  and  cried,  '  God  bless  your  majesty  !  God  preserve  your  majesty  ! ' 
and  lay  there  howling  and  embracing  the  king's  knees  with  one  foot  so 
extended  that  my  lord  C.,  who  was  luckily  in  waiting,  and  begged  the 
standers-by  to  retire  with  *  For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,  don't  look  at  a 
great  man  in  distress,'  endeavouring  to  shut  the  door,  caught  his  grace's 
foot,  and  made  him  roar  out  with  pain. 

In  1760  Walpole  was  present  at  the  funeral  of  George 
II.,  and  in  his  description  the  scene  loses  its  solemnity 
and  becomes  dismal  and  ludicrous. 

When  we  came  to  the  chapel  of  Henry  the  Seventh,  all  solemnity  and 
decorum  ceased  ;  no  order  was  observed ;  people  sat  or  stood  where  they 
could  or  would  ;  the  yeomen  of  the  guard  were  crying  out  for  help,  op- 
pressed by  the  immense  weight  of  the  coffin ;  the  bishop  read  sadly,  and 
blundered  in  the  prayers ;  the  fine  chapter  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman 
was  chaunted,  not  read ;  and  the  anthem,  besides  being  immeasurably 
tedious,  would  have  served  as  well  for  a  nuptial. 

The  real  serious  part  was  the  figure  of  the  duke  of  Cumberland, 
heightened  by  a  thousand  melancholy  circumstances.  He  had  a  dark 
brown  adonis,  and  a  cloak  of  black  cloth  with  a  train  of  five  yards. 
Attending  the  funeral  of  a  father  could  not  be  pleasant ;  his  leg  extremely 
bad,  yet  forced  to  stand  upon  it  near  two  hours ;  his  face  bloated  and 
distorted  with  his  late  paralytic  stroke,  which  has  affected,  too,  one  of 
his  eyes  ;  and  placed  over  the  mouth  of  the  vault,  into  which  in  all  pro- 
bability he  must  himself  so  soon  descend ;  think  how  unpleasant  a  situa- 
tion !  He  bore  it  all  with  a  firm  and  unaffected  countenance. 

This  grave  scene  was  fully  contrasted  by  the  burlesque  duke  of  New- 
castle. He  fell  into  a  fit  of  crying  the  moment  he  came  into  the  chapel, 
and  flung  himself  back  in  a  stall,  the  archbishop  hovering  over  him  with 
a  smelling  bottler  but  in  two  minutes  his  curiosity  got  the  better  of  his 


BISHOP  BUTLER 


385 


hypocrisy,  and  he  ran  about  the  chapel  with  his  glass  to  spy  who  was, 
or  was  not,  there,  spying  with  one  hand,  and  mopping  his  eyes  with  the 
other.  Then  returned  the  fear  of  catching  cold ;  and  the  duke  of  Cum- 
berland, who  was  sinking  with  heat,  felt  himself  weighed  down,  and, 
turning  round,  found  it  was  the  duke  of  Newcastle  standing  upon  his 
train  to  avoid  the  chill  of  the  marble. 

Walpole  wrote  *  The  Castle  of  Otranto,'  a  novel  which 
was  once  famous,  the  '  Anecdotes  of  Painting,'  a  work 
which  is  still  interesting,  besides  several  other  works, 
but  his  letters  are  best  of  all. 

He  died  in  1797,  and  a  few  weeks  before  his  death  he 
draws  a  melancholy  picture  of  himself. 

At  home  I  see  only  a  few  charitable  elders,  except  about  fourscore 
nephews  and  nieces  of  various  ages  who  are  each  brought  to  me  once 
a  year  to  stare  at  me  as  the  Methusalem  of  the  family ;  and  they  can 
only  speak  of  their  own  contemporaries,  which  interest  me  no  more  than 
if  they  talked  of  their  dolls,  or  bats  and  balls. 


BISHOP  BUTLER 

THE  eighteenth  century  has  received  condemnation 
from  all  kinds  of  men.  Dr.  Pusey  speaks  of  it  as  *  the 
deadest  and  shallowest  period  of  English  theology  and 
of  the  English  church.'  Mark  Pattison  describes  it  as 
1  an  age  destitute  of  depth  or  earnestness ;  an  age  whose 
poetry  was  without  romance,  whose  philosophy  was  with- 
out insight,  and  whose  public  men  were  without 
character.'  The  pictures  of  Hogarth  bear  witness  to  the 
great  prevalence  of  cruelty,  drunkenness,  and  other  vices, 
and  the  philosopher  David  Hartley  speaks  of  l  the  great 
growth  of  atheism  and  infidelity,  particularly  amongst 
the  governing  parts  of  these  States,'  and  of  '  the  open 

c  c 


386       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  abandoned  lewdness  to  which  great  numbers  of  both 
sexes,  especially  in  the  high  ranks  of  life,  have  given 
themselves  up.' 

The  witty  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  says  that 

honour,  virtue,  reputation,  etc.,  which  we  used  to  hear  of  in  our  nursery, 
are  as  much  laid  aside  and  forgotten  as  crumpled  ribands ;  and  the  ap- 
pellation of  rake  is  as  genteel  in  a  woman  as  in  a  man  of  quality.  And 
I  was  told  by  a  very  good  author,  who  is  deep  in  the  secret,  that  at  this 
very  minute  there  is  a  bill  cooking-up,  at  Sir  Bobert  Walpole's  hunting 
seat  in  Norfolk,  to  have  not  taken  out  of  the  Commandments  and  clapped 
into  the  Creed,  in  the  ensuing  session  of  parliament. 

Such  a  condition  of  things  was  the  outcome  of  various 
causes  which  are  not  easy  to  trace,  but  the  prevailing 
philosophy  had  no  doubt  much  to  do  with  it.  Locke 
himself,  says  Carlyle,  though  a  humble-minded  and 
religious  man,  had  paved  the  way  for  banishing  religion 
from  the  world. 

Freethinkers  abounded :  Shaftesbury  and  Boling- 
broke,  Collins  and  Toland,  Tindal  and  Woolston  and 
others ;  and  Bishop  Butler,  of  whom  we  have  now  to 
speak,  says  in  the  introduction  to  his  great  work  :— 

It  is  come,  I  know  not  how,  to  be  taken  for  granted,  by  many  Persons, 
that  Christianity  is  not  so  much  as  a  Subject  of  Inquiry ;  but  that  it  is 
now  at  length  discovered  to  be  fictitious.  And  accordingly  they  treat  it 
as  if,  in  the  present  Age,  this  were  an  agreed  Point  amongst  all  People  of 
Discernment ;  and  nothing  remained  but  to  set  it  up  as  a  principal  Sub- 
ject of  Mirth  and  Kidicule,  as  it  were  by  Way  of  Reprisals,  for  its  having 
so  long  interrupted  the  Pleasures  of  the  World. 

Joseph  Butler  was  born  in  1692  at  Wantage,  where  his 
father  was  a  prosperous  linen  and  woollen  draper.  He 
was  carefully  educated  at  a  dissenting  Academy  at 
Tewkesbury,  and  several  youths  who  afterwards  rose  to 
eminence  were  his  schoolfellows. 


BISHOP  BUTLER  3g7 

Dr.  Samuel  Clarke  was  at  that  time  the  ablest  meta* 
physician  in  England,  and  he  had  recently  written  '  A 
Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God,'  which 
work  greatly  interested  Butler,  and  a  series  of  five  letters 
with  answers  which  passed  between  him  and  Dr.  Clarke 
have  been  preserved. 

In  the  first  of  these  letters  Butler  says  : — 

I  have  made  it,  sir,  my  business,  ever  since  I  thought  myself  capable 
of  such  sort  of  reasoning,  to  prove  to  myself  the  being  and  attributes  of 
God.  And  being  sensible  that  it  is  a  matter  of  the  last  consequence,  I 
endeavoured,  after  a  demonstrative  proof,  not  only  more  fully  to  satisfy 
my  own  mind,  but  also  in  order  to  defend  the  great  truths  of  natural 
religion,  and  those  of  the  Christian  revelation  which  follow  from  them, 
against  all  opposers ;  but  must  own  with  concern  that  hitherto  I  have 
been  unsuccessful ;  and  though  I  have  got  very  probable  arguments,  yet 
I  can  go  but  a  very  little  way  with  demonstration  in  the  proof  of  those 
things. 

Butler  was  at  this  time  only  twenty-one,  and  the  letter 
is  interesting  as  showing  that  his  mind  had  already  taken 
its  final  bent. 

In  1714  he  went  to  Oxford,  but  the  course  of  study  was 
distasteful  to  him. 

We  are  obliged  to  misspend  so  much  time  here  in  attending  frivolous 
lectures  and  unintelligible  disputations,  that  I  am  quite  tired  out  with 
such  a  disagreeable  way  of  trifling. 

A  few  years  later  he  was  ordained,  and  in  1718  he 
was  appointed  preacher  at  the  Kolls  Chapel.  This  post 
he  retained  for  eight  years,  and  fifteen  sermons  have 
been  preserved  of  the  many  which  he  preached  there. 

The  first  three  '  On  Human  Nature'  are  especially 
famous,  and  from  them  Sir  James  Mackintosh  declared 
he  '  had  learnt  all  his  philosophy.'  In  these  sermons 

cc2 


388        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Butler  combated  the  ignoble  views  of  human  nature 
held  by  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury  and  some  other  philoso- 
phers, who  regarded  the  state  of  nature  as  a  state  of  war, 
and  who  held  that  benevolence  and  pity  were  only  forms 
of  self-love,  and  charity  only  a  gratification  of  our  love 
of  power. 

Butler  on  the  other  hand  maintained  :— 

It  is  as  manifest  that  we  were  made  for  Society  and  to  promote  the 
Happiness  of  it,  as  that  we  were  intended  to  take  Care  of  our  own  Life 
and  Health  and  private  good. 

As  there  is  no  such  Thing  as  Self-hatred,  so  neither  is  there  any  such 
Thing  as  Ill-will  in  one  Man  towards  another,  Emulation  and  Kesentment 
being  away  ;  whereas  there  is  plainly  Benevolence  or  Good-will ;  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  Love  of  Injustice,  Oppression,  Treachery,  Ingratitude, 
but  only  eager  Desires  after  such  and  such  external  Goods ;  which,  ac- 
cording to  a  very  ancient  Observation,  the  most  abandoned  would  choose 
to  obtain  by  innocent  Means  if  they  were  as  easy  and  as  effectual  to 
their  End. 

In  1725  Butler  received  the  rich  living  of  Stanhope 
in  Weardale,  and  in  the  deep  seclusion  of  this  distant 
parish  he  spent  seven  years  in  writing  his  great  work 
'  The  Analogy  of  Religion,  Natural  and  Kevealed,  to  the 
Constitution  and  Course  of  Nature.' 

He  takes  in  this  work  as  a  kind  of  text  a  remark  of 
Origen  that 

he  who  believes  the  Scripture  to  have  proceeded  from  Him  who  is  the 
Author  of  Nature,  may  well  expect  to  find  the  same  sort  of  Difficulties  in 
it  as  are  found  in  the  Constitution  of  Nature. 

And  to  this  Butler  himself  adds  that 

he  who  denies  the  Scripture  to  have  been  from  God  on  Account  of  these 
difficulties,  may,  for  the  very  same  Keason,  deny  the  World  to  have  been 
formed  by  Him.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there  be  an  Analogy  or  Likeness 
between  that  System  of  Things  and  Dispensation  of  Providence  which 


BISHOP  BUTLER  389 

Eevelation  informs  us  of,  and  that  System  of  Things  and  Dispensation  of 
Providence,  which  Experience  together  with  Keason  informs  us  of,  i.e.  the 
known  Course  of  Nature ;  this  is  a  Presumption  that  they  have  both  the 
same  Author  and  Cause. 

The  (  Analogy '  is  therefore  no  answer  to  Atheists,  nor 
was  it  intended  to  be  so,  but  it  has  always  been  considered 
to  be  a  complete  and  masterly  answer  to  those  who  re- 
cognise God  as  the  Creator  and  ruler  of  the  world,  but 
who  yet  rejected  the  revelation  of  God  in  the  Bible  as 
being  contrary  to  reason. 

Butler  felt  that  the  evidence  which  he  had  offered  was 
probable  not  demonstrative,  and  he  gives  in  his  introduc- 
tion some  pregnant  remarks  on  probability. 

Probable  Evidence,  in  its  very  Nature,  affords  but  an  imperfect  kind 
of  Information,  and  is  to  be  considered  as  relative  only  to  Beings  of  limited 
Capacities.  For  Nothing  which  is  the  possible  object  of  Knowledge, 
whether  past,  present,  or  future,  can  be  probable  to  an  infinite  Intelli- 
gence ;  since  it  cannot  but  be  discerned  absolutely  as  it  is  in  itself,  certainly 
true,  or  certainly  false.  But  to  Us,  Probability  is  the  very  Guide  of  Life. 

In  Questions  of  Difficulty,  or  such  as  are  thought  so,  where  more  satis- 
factory Evidence  cannot  be  had,  or  is  not  seen  ;  if  the  Besult  of  Examina- 
tion be  that  there  appears  upon  the  whole  any,  the  lowest  Presumption 
on  One  side  and  none  on  the  Other,  or  a  greater  Presumption  on  One  side, 
though  in  the  lowest  Degree  greater,  this  determines  the  Question,  even 
in  matters  of  Speculation  ;  and  in  matters  of  Practice  will  lay  us  under 
an  absolute  and  formal  Obligation,  in  point  of  Prudence  and  of  Interest, 
to  act  upon  that  Presumption  or  low  Probability,  though  it  be  so  low  as 
to  leave  the  Mind  in  very  great  Doubt  which  is  the  Truth.  For  surely  a 
Man  is  as  really  bound  in  Prudence  to  do  what  upon  the  whole  appears, 
according  to  the  best  of  his  Judgment,  to  be  for  his  Happiness,  as  what 
he  certainly  knows  to  be  so. 

In  the  opening  chapter  of  the  second  part  of  the 
work,  he  speaks  thus  of  the  importance  of  Christianity  : 

Some  Persons,  upon  Pretence  of  the  Sufficiency  of  the  Light  of  Nature 
avowedly  reject  all  Bevelation  as  in  its  very  Notion  incredible,  and  what 


390       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

must  be  fictitious.  And  indeed  it  is  certain  no  Revelation  would  have 
been  given,  had  the  Light  of  Nature  been  sufficient  in  such  a  Sense  as  to 
render  one  not  wanting  and  useless. 

But  no  Man,  in  Seriousness  and  Simplicity  of  Mind,  can  possibly 
think  it  so,  who  considers  the  State  of  Religion  in  the  heathen  World 
before  Revelation,  and  its  present  State  in  those  Places  which  have 
borrowed  no  Light  from  it :  particularly  the  Doubtfulness  of  some  of  the 
greatest  Men  concerning  things  of  the  utmost  Importance,  as  well  as  the 
natural  Inattention  and  Ignorance  of  Mankind  in  general.  It  is  im- 
possible to  say  who  would  have  been  able  to  have  reasoned  out  That 
whole  System  which  we  call  natural  Religion  in  its  genuine  Simplicity, 
clear  of  Superstition  ;  but  there  is  certainly  no  Ground  to  affirm  that  the 
Generality  could.  If  they  could,  there  is  no  Sort  of  Probability  that  they 
would.  So  that  to  say,  Revelation  is  a  thing  superfluous,  what  there  was 
no  Need  of,  and  what  can  be  of  no  Service ;  is,  I  think,  to  talk  quite  wildly 
and  at  random.  Nor  would  it  be  more  extravagant  to  affirm  that  Man- 
kind is  so  entirely  at  ease  in  the  present  State,  and  Life  so  compleatly 
happy,  that  it  is  a  Contradiction  to  suppose  our  Condition  capable  of 
being,  in  any  Respect,  better. 

In  1736  the  *  Analogy  '  was  published,  and  attracted 
much  attention.  Queen  Caroline  had  always  been  fond 
of  philosophical  and  theological  discussions,  and  she  read 
the  work  with  interest,  and  two  years  later  Butler  was 
made  Bishop  of  Bristol.  In  1747  he  was  offered  the  pri- 
macy, but  he  declined  the  honour ;  two  years  later  he 
was  offered  and  he  accepted  the  great  see  of  Durham,  the 
King  himself  pressing  it  upon  him. 

He  held  the  see  for  less  than  two  years,  and  the  only 
memorial  left  us  of  this  period  is  his  '  Charge  to  the 
Clergy '  in  1751.  The  tone  of  this  Charge  is  melancholy 
and  desponding. 

It  is  impossible  for  Me,  My  Brethren,  upon  our  first  Meeting  of  this 
Kind,  to  forbear  lamenting  with  You  the  general  Decay  of  Religion  in 
this  Nation ;  which  is  now  observed  by  every  One,  and  has  been  for 
some  Time  the  Complaint  of  all  serious  Persons.  The  Influence  of  it  is 
more  and  more  wearing  out  of  the  Minds  of  Men,  even  of  those  who  do 


THOMAS  GRAY  3gi 

not  pretend  to  enter  into  Speculations  upon  the  Subject :  But  the  number 
of  those  who  do,  and  who  profess  themselves  Unbelievers,  increases,  and 
with  their  Numbers  their  Zeal.  Zeal — 'tis  natural  to  ask— for  what? 
Why,  truely,  for  nothing,  but  against  every  Thing  that  is  Good  and 
Sacred  amongst  us. 

In  1752  his  health  rapidly  failed,  and  he  died  at  Bath 
after  a  short  illness,  and  was  buried  in  his  old  cathedral 
at  Bristol. 


THOMAS  GRAY 

THE  age  which  immediately  succeeded  Pope  was  unfavour- 
able to  poetry,  and  though  a  crowd  of  writers  appeared, 
Glover  and  Mason,  and  Shenstone  and  Akenside,  and 
others,  they  are  scarcely  worthy  of  mention.  It  was  an 
age  of  prose,  and  it  has  been  doubted  if  even  the  great 
master  Pope  himself  was  fully  worthy  of  the  name  of 
poet.  Coleridge  describes  the  poetry  of  the  period  as 
'  translations  of  prose  thoughts  into  poetic  language,'  and 
says  its  excellence  *  consisted  in  just  and  acute  observa- 
tions on  men  and  manners  in  an  artificial  state  of  society 
as  its  matter  and  substance ;  and,  in  the  logic  of  wit, 
conveyed  in  smooth  and  epigrammatic  couplets  as  its 
form.' ' 

In  this  unpropitious  time  fell  the  life  of  Gray,  a  man 
of  exquisite  taste  and  of  genuine  poetic  spirit,  who  yet 
achieved  so  little ;  and  Matthew  Arnold  traces  this  poverty 
of  achievement  to  the  chilling  influence  of  the  .time. 
'  Coming  when  he  did,  and  endowed  as  he  was,  he  was  a 
man  born  out  of  date,  a  man  whose  full  spiritual  flowering 
was  impossible.' 

1  « Biographia  Literaria.' 


392       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Gray  was  born  in  Cornhill  in  1716,  and  his  father, 
like  Milton's,  was  a  scrivener.  He  was  unkind  to  his 
wife,  and  neglectful  of  his  children.  Thomas  was  the 
only  child  who  lived  out  of  a  family  of  twelve,  and  he 
owed  much  more  to  his  uncles  and  aunts  than  to  his 
father. 

In  1727  he  went  to  Eton,  and  there  commenced  the 
friendship  with  Horace  Walpole  which,  save  for  one 
interval,  lasted  till  Gray's  death.  In  1734  they  pro- 
ceeded to  Cambridge,  where  two  of  Gray's  uncles  were 
Fellows  of  colleges.  Another  Eton  companion,  named 
West,  whom  Gray  dearly  loved,  had  gone  to  Oxford; 
and  now  began  that  series  of  letters  which,  more  than 
his  poems,  reveal  to  us  the  fine  sympathetic  nature  of 
Gray. 

Gray  spent  his  summer  vacations  at  his  uncle's  house 
at  Burnham  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  in  a  letter  to 
Walpole  we  get  a  pleasant  picture  of  the  youth  studying 
at  the  feet  of  the  famous  Burnham  Beeches. 

I  have,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  through  a  green  lane,  a  forest 
(the  vulgar  call  it  a  common)  all  my  own,  at  least  as  good  as  so,  for  I 
spy  no  human  thing  in  it  but  myself.  It  is  a  little  chaos  of  mountains 
and  precipices  ;  mountains,  it  is  true,  that  do  not  ascend  much  above  the 
clouds,  nor  are  the  declivities  quite  so  amazing  as  Dover  cliff  ;  but  just 
such  hills  as  people  who  love  their  necks  as  well  as  I  do,  may  venture  to 
climb,  and  crags  that  give  the  eye  as  much  pleasure  as  if  they  were 
dangerous  ;  both  vale  and  hill  are  covered  with  most  venerable  beeches, 
and  other  very  reverend  vegetables,  that,  like  most  other  ancient  people, 
are  always  dreaming  out  their  old  stories  to  the  winds. 

At  the  foot  of  one  of  these  squats  me  (II  Penseroso),  and  there 
grow  to  the  trunk  for  a  whole  morning.  The  timorous  hare  and 
sportive  squirrel  gambol  around  me  like  Adam  in  Paradise,  before  he 
had  an  Eve  ;  but  I  think  he  did  not  use  to  read  Virgil  as  I  commonly 
do  there. 


THOMAS  GRAV  393 

In  1739  he  accompanied  Walpole  on  a  tour  to  the 
Continent,  and  in  a  series  of  thirty  letters  to  his  mother 
and  father,  and  to  his  friend  West,  he  gives  a  full  and 
pleasant  account  of  his  travels.  The  following  extract 
is  from  a  letter  to  his  mother  from  Eheims. 

The  other  evening  we  happened  to  be  got  together  in  a  company  of 
eighteen  people,  men  and  women  of  the  best  fashion  here,  at  a  garden 
in  the  town  to  walk,  when  one  of  the  ladies  bethought  herself  of  asking, 
'  Why  should  not  we  sup  here  ? '  Immediately  the  cloth  was  laid  by 
the  side  of  a  fountain  under  the  trees,  and  a  very  elegant  supper  served 
up,  after  which  another  said,  '  Come,  let  us  sing,'  and  directly  began 
herself ;  from  singing  we  insensibly  fell  to  dancing,  and  singing  in  a 
round,  when  somebody  mentioned  the  violins,  and  immediately  a  company 
of  them  was  ordered.  Minuets  were  begun  in  the  open  air,  and  then  came 
country  dances,  which  held  till  four  o'clock  next  morning,  at  which 
hour  the  gayest  lady  there,  proposed  that  such  as  were  weary  should  get 
into  their  coaches,  and  the  rest  of  them  should  dance  before  them  with 
the  music  in  the  van  ;  and  in  this  manner  we  paraded  through  all  the 
principal  streets  of  the  city,  and  waked  everybody  in  it. 

The  two  friends  crossed  the  Alps  and  spent  a  con- 
siderable time  in  Genoa,  Kome,  Naples,  and  Florence. 
Gray  returned  home  alone  in  1741,  having  quarrelled 
with  and  parted  from  Walpole,  but  their  friendship  was 
renewed  a  few  years  later. 

In  1742  Gray  suffered  a  severe  loss  in  the  death  of 
his  friend  West.  His  father  also  had  recently  died,  and 
his  mother  and  her  sister  retired  from  Cornhill  to  the 
home  of  another  widowed  sister  at  Stoke  Pogis,  and  Gray 
spent  a  good  portion  of  the  spring  and  summer  in  this 
pleasant  village,  and  wrote  there  his  earliest  English  odes 
1  On  the  Spring,'  '  On  a  distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College,' 
and  '  To  Adversity,'  and  he  also  in  the  same  year  began 
his  famous  *  Elegy.' 


394      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  these  poems  a  pensive  melancholy  is  expressed  in 
most  melodious  verse.  In  the  '  Ode  to  Spring,'  after  de- 
scribing the  gay  insects  glancing  in  the  bright  sunbeams, 
he  says : 

To  Contemplation's  sober  eye 

Such  is  the  race  of  Man  : 
And  they  that  creep,  and  they  that  fly, 

Shall  end  where  they  began. 
Alike  the  Busy  and  the  Gay 
But  flutter  through  life's  little  day, 

In  Fortune's  varying  colours  dress'd : 
Brushed  by  the  hand  of  rough  Mischance, 
Or  chill'd  by  Age,  their  airy  dance 

They  leave,  in  dust  to  rest. 

Gray  now  returned  to  Cambridge  and  made  it  his 
home,  living  first  at  Peterhouse,  and  moving  in  1756  to 
Pembroke  College,  but  ever  at  holiday-time  he  would  re- 
turn to  his  mother's  and  aunt's  house  at  Stoke  Pogis. 
He  was  now  reconciled  to  Walpole,  and  he  enclosed  in  a 
letter  to  him  in  1747  the  charming  little  poem  *  On  the 
death  of  a  favourite  cat.' 

In  1750,  during  his  summer  visit  to  Stoke,  he  put  the 
last  touches  to  the  'Elegy,'  and  sent  it  to  Walpole,  who  was 
delighted  with  it  and  foresaw  its  instant  success.  It  was 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  in  manuscript,  and  found  its 
way  into  the  magazines.  Early  in  1751  it  was  published, 
and  it  went  through  four  editions  in  two  months,  and 
innumerable  editions  followed.  Even  the  surly  Johnson, 
who  did  not  love  Gray,  says  of  the  'Elegy,'  'Had  Gray 
written  often  thus,  it  had  been  vain  to  blame  and  useless 
to  praise  him.' 

From  a  poem  so  well  known  it  is  scarcely  needful  to 
give  extracts,  but  a  stanza  which  the  fastidious  taste  of 


THOMAS  GRAY  395 

the  poet  finally  led  him  to  omit  may  be  given  on  account 
of  its  beauty. 

There  -scatter'd  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen  are  showers  of  violets  found ; 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground. 

In  the  early  editions  this  stood  immediately  before 
the  epitaph,  but  Gray  omitted  it  because  he  thought  it 
was  too  long  a  parenthesis  in  this  place.  Byron's  com- 
ment on  it  is,  *  As  fine  a  stanza  as  any  in  his  "  Elegy.'* 
I  wonder  that  he  could  have  the  heart  to  omit  it.' 

Among  others  into  whose  hands  the  manuscript  of  the 
1  Elegy  '  came  was  Lady  Cobham,  who  lived  close  by  in 
the  Manor  House  at  Stoke,  and  who  now  greatly  wished 
to  know  the  poet.  She  therefore  prevailed  upon  her 
guest  Lady  Schaub,  who  was  a  friend  of  a  friend  of  Gray's, 
to  accompany  her  niece  Miss  Speed  in  a  morning  call 
upon  the  poet.  Gray  had  gone  out  for  a  walk,  but  the 
incident  led  to  a  warm  and  lasting  friendship,  and  it  was 
commemorated  in  the  liveliest  of  all  Gray's  poems,  '  The 
Long  Story,'  from  which  a  few  stanzas  may  be  given. 

The  heroines  undertook  the  task, 

Through  lanes  unknown,  o'er  stiles  they  ventured ; 
Bapp'd  at  the  door,  nor  staid  to  ask, 

But  bounce  into  the  parlour  enter'd. 

The  trembling  family  they  daunt ; 

They  flirt,  they  sing,  they  laugh,  they  tattle, 
Eummage  his  mother,  pinch  his  aunt, 

And  upstairs  in  a  whirlwind  rattle. 

Each  hole  and  cupboard  they  explore, 

Each  creek  and  cranny  of  his  chamber, 
Bun  hurry-skurry  round  the  floor, 

And  o'er  the  bed  and  tester  clamber ; 


396       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Into  the  drawers  and  china  pry, 

Papers  and  books,  a  huge  imbroglio ! 
Under  a  tea-cup  he  might  lie, 

Or  creased,  like  dog's-ears  in  a  folio. 

A  few  years  later  Gray  finished  the  first  of  his  Pin- 
daric odes, '  The  Progress  of  Poesy,'  and  sent  it  to  a  friend 
with  the  remark — 

If  this  be  as  tedious  to  you  as  it  has  grown  to  me,  I  shall  be  sorry 
that  I  sent  it  you.  I  desire  you  would  by  no  means  suffer  it  to  be  copied, 
nor  even  show  it  unless  to  very  few. 

Some  of  the  best  judges  have  expressed  high  admira- 
tion for  this  poem,  but  it  can  never  become  popular  like 
the  '  Elegy.'  The  following  extract  from  '  The  Progress 
of  Poesy  '  is  Gray's  noble  celebration  of  the  three  great 
masters  of  English  song. 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  laid, 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray 'd, 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face  :  the  dauntless  child 
Stretched  forth  his  little  arms  and  smiled. 

1  This  pencil  take  (she  said),  whose  colours  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year : 
Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  Boy ! 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy ; 

Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 

Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears. 

Nor  second  He,  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph  wings  of  Ecstasy, 
The  secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy : 

He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time ; 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 


THOMAS  GRAY  397 

Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  etherial  race, 
With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long-resounding  pace. 

His  second  Pindaric  ode, '  The  Bard,'  was  finished  in 
1757,  and  a  few  other  odes,  <  The  Fatal  Sisters,'  « The 
Descent  of  Odin,'  '  The  Triumphs  of  Owen,'  and  the 
'  Death  of  Hoel,'  followed  in  later  years,  and  were  the 
fruits  of  Gray's  researches  into  early  Scandinavian  and 
Welsh  literature. 

During  1759  and  the  two  following  years  he  lived 
in  London,  in  Bloomsbury,  in  order  to  avail  himself  of 
the  antiquarian  treasures  of  the  newly  opened  British 
Museum.  He  was  preparing  materials  for  a  history  of 
English  poetry,  but  failing  health  and  spirits  caused 
him  to  abandon  a  plan  which  he  was  so  admirably  fitted 
to  execute,  and  his  collections  passed  into  the  hands  of 
Warton.  And  it  may  be  well  to  quote  here  an  extract 
from  a  tribute  of  praise,  which  was  published  soon  after 
Gray's  death  by  the  Eev.  W.  Temple,  a  friend  who  knew 
him  well. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Gray  was  the  most  learned  man  in  Europe ;  he  was 
equally  acquainted  with  the  elegant  and  profound  parts  of  Science,  and 
not  superficially  but  thoroughly.  He  knew  every  branch  of  history,  both 
natural  and  civil ;  had  read  all  the  original  historians  of  England,  France, 
and  Italy,  and  was  a  great  antiquarian.  Criticism,  metaphysics,  morals, 
politics,  made  a  principal  part  of  his  plan  of  study.  Voyages  and  travels 
of  all  sorts  were  his  favourite  amusement,  and  he  had  a  fine  taste  in 
painting,  prints,  architecture,  and  gardening. 

The  last  seven  years  of  Gray's  life  were  passed  at 
Cambridge,  and  as  his  mother  and  aunts  were  dead,  he 
spent  his  summer  holidays  with  various  friends  in  travels 
to  the  South  and  West  of  England,  to  Cumberland  and 


398       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

to  the  Highlands.     His  letters,  especially  those  from  the 
Lake  District,  are  delightful,  and  Dr.  Johnson  says  : 

He  that  reads  his  epistolary  narration  wishes  that  to  travel  and  to 
tell  his  travels  had  been  more  of  his  employment. 

Gray  died  at  Cambridge  in  July  1771. 


THE   NOVELISTS 

THE  Georgian  age,  with  its  low  aims  and  ideals  of  life, 
could  produce  no  great  masterpiece  in  poetry,  but  in  the 
humbler  field  of  prose  romance  great  things  were  achieved, 
and '  Tom  Jones'  and  '  Clarissa  Harlowe '  stand  unrivalled 
still. 

The  first  of  the  great  novelists  was  Daniel  Defoe,  who 
was  born  in  1661,  and  who,  till  he  was  nearly  sixty,  spent 
his  busy  life  in  pamphleteering,  using  his  pen  sometimes 
for  one  party  and  sometimes  for  another,  but  always  for 
liberty  and  progress.  *  The  Essay  on  Projects,'  '  The 
True-Born  Englishman,'  and  the  ironical  '  Shortest  Way 
with  the  Dissenters,'  are  some  of  his  chief  political 
works. 

Defoe  possessed  the  power  of  rendering  a  narrative 
wonderfully  real  and  lifelike  by  the  addition  of  little 
circumstantial  touches,  and  this  is  well  shown  in  his 
'  Journal  of  the  Plague  Year,5  and  in  the  '  Account  of 
the  Great  Storm  of  1703.' 

His  masterpiece,  *  Bobinson  Crusoe,'  was  written  in 
1719,  and  it  was  based  upon  the  real  adventures  of  the 
Scotch  mariner  Alexander  Selkirk.  The  book  was  a 


DEFOE  399 

great  success,  and  Defoe  followed  it  up  by  writing  '  Cap- 
tain Singleton,'  '  Colonel  Jack/  '  Moll  of  Flanders,'  and 
other  stories,  in  all  of  which  there  is  the  same  lifelike 
reality,  but  they  lack  the  simplicity  and  unity  of  *  Crusoe.' 
As  an  example  of  Defoe's  style,  we  may  take  an  ex- 
tract from  '  Colonel  Jack,'  in  which  two  lads  share  and 
spend  their  first  day's  pilferings  in  Bartholomew  Fair. 

'  And  what  will  you  do  with  it  now,  Jack  ?  '  said  I.  '  I  do ! '  says  he  ;  '  the 
first  thing  I  do  I'll  go  into  Eag  Fair,  and  buy  me  a  pair  of  shoes  and 
stockings.'  '  That's  right,'  says  I,  '  and  so  will  I  too.'  So  away  we  went 
together,  and  we  bought  each  of  us  a  pair  of  Eag  Fair  stockings  in  the 
first  place  for  fivepence,  not  fivepence  a  pair,  but  fivepence  together; 
and  good  stockings  they  were  too,  much  above  our  wear,  I  assure  you. 

We  found  it  more  difficult  to  fit  ourselves  with  shoes ;  but  at  last, 
having  looked  a  great  while  before  we  could  find  any  good  enough  for  us, 
we  found  a  shop  very  well  stored,  and  of  these  we  bought  two  pairs  for 
sixteenpence. 

We  put  them  on  immediately,  to  our  great  comfort,  for  we  had  neither 
of  us  had  any  stockings  to  our  legs  that  had  any  feet  to  them  for  a  long 
time.  I  found  myself  so  refreshed  with  having  a  pair  of  warm  stockings 
on,  and  a  pair  of  dry  shoes — things,  I  say,  which  I  had  not  been  acquainted 
with  a  great  while— that  I  began  to  call  to  my  mind  my  being  a  gentle- 
man, and  now  I  thought  it  began  to  come  to  pass. 

Samuel  Richardson,  the  author  of  '  Clarissa,'  was 
born  in  Derbyshire  in  1689,  and  his  father  was  a  joiner. 
He  received  little  education,  but  he  was  fond  of  reading, 
and  like  Scott  he  became  famous  among  his  companions 
as  a  teller  of  stories. 

My  schoolfellows  used  to  call  me  Serious  and  Gravity,  and  five  of 
them  particularly  delighted  to  single  me  out  either  for  a  walk,  or  at  their 
father's  houses  or  at  mine  to  tell  them  stories,  as  they  phrased  it.  Some 
I  told  them  from  my  reading,  as  true ;  others  from  my  head,  as  mere 
invention,  of  which  they  would  be  most  fond,  and  often  were  affected  by 
them.  All  my  stories  carried  with  them,  I  am  bold  to  say,  a  useful 
moral. 


4oo      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Not,  however,  with  boys  only  were  Richardson's  special 
talents  in  request. 

I  was  an  early  favourite  with  all  the  young  women  of  taste  and  read- 
ing in  the  neighbourhood.  Half  a  dozen  of  them,  when  met  to  work  with 
their  needles,  used,  when  they  got  a  book  they  liked,  and  thought  I  should, 
to  borrow  me  to  read  to  them,  their  mothers  sometimes  with  them  ;  and 
both  mothers  and  daughters  used  to  be  pleased  with  the  observations 
they  put  me  upon  making. 

I  was  not  more  than  thirteen  when  three  of  these  young  women,  un- 
known to  each  other,  having  a  high  opinion  of  my  taciturnity,  revealed 
to  me  their  love  secrets,  in  order  to  induce  me  to  give  them  copies  to  write 
after  or  correct  for  answers  to  their  lovers'  letters  ;  nor  did  any  one  of 
them  ever  know  that  I  was  the  secretary  to.  the  others. 

I  have  been  directed  to  chide  and  even  repulse,  when  an  offence 
was  either  taken  or  given,  at  the  very  time  when  the  heart  of  the  chider 
or  repulser  was  open  before  me,  overflowing  with  esteem  and  affection  ; 
and  the  fair  repulser,  dreading  to  be  taken  at  her  word,  directing  this 
word  or  that  expression,  to  be  softened  or  changed. 

One,  highly  gratified  with  her  lover's  fervour  and  vows  of  everlasting 
love,  has  said,  when  I  have  asked  her  directions,  '  I  cannot  tell  you  what 
to  write,  but '  (her  heart  on  her  lips)  *  you  cannot  write  too  kindly.' 

So  early  did  the  young  Samuel  begin  to  acquire  that 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  female  heart  in  which  he  is 
unrivalled. 

In  1706  Richardson  came  to  London  to  be  appren- 
ticed as  a  printer,  and  so  well  did  he  prosper  that  in 
1754  he  was  chosen  Master  of  the  Stationers'  Company, 
and  he  had  his  villa  at  Hammersmith  as  well  as  his 
printing  establishment  in  Fleet  Street.  He  was  kind  to 
struggling  men  of  letters,  and  Johnson  and  Goldsmith 
were  among  those  whom  he  befriended.  Vanity  was  the 
good  man's  chief  failing,  and  Johnson,  who  loved  him, 
has  to  admit  that  his  love  of  continual  superiority  was 
such,  that  he  took  care  always  to  be  surrounded  by 


RICHARDSON 


401 


women,  who  listened  to  him  implicitly  and  did  not 
venture  to  contradict  his  opinions. 

His  first  great  romance,  *  Pamela,  or  Virtue  Eewarded,' 
was  published  in  1740,  when  the  author  was  fifty  years 
old,  and  it  took  the  town  by  storm.  Four  editions  were 
published  in  as  many  months,  Stre^leck  praised  it  from 
the  pulpit,  Pope  declared  it  would  '  do  more  good  than 
many  volumes  of  sermons,'  and  we  are  told  that  '  even 
at  Eanelagh  the  ladies  would  hold  up  the  volumes  of 
"  Pamela  "  to  one  another  to  show  that  they  had  got  the 
book  that  everyone  was  talking  of. 

The  story  of  Pamela  is  a  very  simple  one,  of  an  inno- 
cent girl  left  by  the  death  of  her  mistress  unprotected, 
and  winning  by  her  virtue  and  constancy  the  heart  of 
her  young  master  and  becoming  his  wife.  The  work 
consists  entirely  of  letters,  and  the  author  has  full  scope 
for  his  minute  painting  of  every  incident  and  character. 
Pamela  herself  is  sketched  with  the  greatest  fulness  and 
perfection,  but  the  minor  characters  also  are  well  drawn. 

Eight  years  later  Eichardson  published  his  master- 
piece, '  Clarissa  Harlowe,'  the  pathetic  story  of  a  beautiful 
and  accomplished  young  lady  who  falls  a  victim  to  the 
plots  of  Lovelace,  who  is  as  witty  as  he  is  wicked.  The 
work  contains  a  wonderful  gallery  of  portraits,  the  inno- 
cent, light-hearted  Clarissa  herself,  her  stern  father  and 
uncles,  her  tender  but  timid  mother,  her  spiteful  sister 
and  ill-natured  brother,  her  impetuous  friend  Miss  Howe, 
the  dissolute  Lovelace  with  his  circle  of  reckless  com- 
panions, and  Colonel  Morden,  the  noble  avenger  of 
Clarissa,  besides  a  number  of  minor  characters. 

As  the  successive  volumes  of  Clarissa  appeared,  the 

D  D 


4o2       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

interest  of  Eichardson's  admirers  rose  to  the  highest 
pitch  possible,  and  many  begged  him  to  give  the  story  a 
happy  ending,  to  reconcile  Lovelace  and  Clarissa,  and  to 
save  Lovelace's  soul.  But  Richardson,  with  the  instinc- 
tive feeling  of  the  true  artist,  resisted  all  such  entreaties 
and  made  his  story  a  tragedy. 

The  following  extract  describes  the  death  of  Love- 
lace : — 

They  parried  with  equal  judgment  several  passes.  My  Chevalier 
drew  the  first  blood,  making  a  desperate  push,  which,  by  a  sudden  turn 
of  his  antagonist,  missed,  going  clear  thro'  him,  and  wounded  him  on  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  ribs  of  his  right  side,  which  part  the  sword  tore  out, 
being  on  the  extremity  of  the  body.  But  before  my  Chevalier  could  re- 
cover himself,  the  Colonel  in  return  pushed  him  into  the  inside  of  the 
left  arm  near  the"  shoulder ;  and  the  sword  (raking  his  breast  as  it 
passed),  being  followed  by  a  great  effusion  of  blood,  the  Colonel  said,  '  Sir, 
I  believe  you  have  enough.' 

My  Chevalier  swore  by  G — d  he  was  not  hurt.  'Twas  a  pin's  point ; 
and  so  made  another  pass  at  his  antagonist,  which  he,  with  a  surprising 
dexterity,  received  under  his  arm,  and  run  my  dear  Chevalier  into  the 
body,  who  immediately  fell,  saying,  '  The  luck  is  yours,  Sir.  0  my  beloved 
Clarissa ! — Now  art  thou — '  Inwardly  he  spoke  three  or  four  words  more. 
His  sword  dropped  from  his  hand.  Mr.  Morden  threw  his  down,  and 
ran  to  him,  saying  in  French,  '  Ah,  Monsieur,  you  are  a  dead  man !  Call 
to  God  for  mercy ! ' 

The  Surgeons  told  him  that  my  Chevalier  could  not  live  over  the 
day. 

When  the  Colonel  took  leave  of  him,  Mr.  Lovelace  said,  '  You  have 
well  revenged  the  dear  creature.'  '  I  have,  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Morden  ;  '  and 
perhaps  shall  be  sorry  that  you  called  upon  me  to  this  work,  while  I  was 
balancing  whether  to  obey  or  disobey  the  dear  angel.' 

Richardson's  last  novel,  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  ap- 
peared in  1753,  and  was  intended  to  portray  a  perfect 
gentleman,  but  the  very  perfection  of  the  character  robs 
it  of  interest.  Still  there  is  throughout  the  seven  volumes 


RICHARDSON 


403 


of  the  work  the  same  minute  and  beautiful  painting,  and 
the  pathetic  story  of  the  Italian  lady  Clementina  is  almost 
as  moving  and  beautiful  as  that  of  Clarissa. 

The    tributes  to    Richardson's    genius    have    been 
numerous  and  varied.     Eousseau  declared 

there  never  has  been  in  any  language  in  the  world  a  romance  equal  to 
'  Clarissa,'  nor  even  approaching  it. 

Johnson  speaks  of  him  as 

an  author  who  has  enlarged  the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  taught 
the  passions  to  move  at  the  command  of  virtue ;  and  he  also  says,  there 
is  more  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  in  one  letter  of  Eichardson's  than 
in  all '  Tom  Jones.' 

Finally,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  writes  thus  to 
her  daughter  :— 

This  Eichardson  is  a  strange  fellow.  I  heartily  despise  him,  and 
eagerly  read  him — nay,  sob  over  his  works  in  a  most  scandalous  manner. 
The  two  first  tomes  of  '  Clarissa  '  touched  me  as  being  very  resembling 
to  my  maiden  days ;  and  I  find  in  the  pictures  of  Sir  Thomas  Grandison 
and  his  lady  what  I  have  heard  of  my  mother  and  seen  of  my  father. 


Henry  Fielding,  the  author  of  '  Tom  Jones,'  was 
closely  connected  by  descent  with  the  noble  family  of 
Denbigh,  which  sprang  from  the  same  ancestors  as  the 
Hapsburgs  of  Germany  and  Spain,  and  this  occasioned 
the  splendid  eulogy  of  Gibbon,  who  says  : 

The  romance  of  '  Tom  Jones,'  that  exquisite  picture  of  human  man- 
ners, will  outlive  the  palace  of  the  Escurial  and  the  imperial  eagle  of  the 
House  of  Austria. 

Fielding  was  born  in  Somersetshire  in  1707,  and  his 
father  was  an  officer  who  fought  in  Marlborough's  wars 

D  D2 


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406        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

needless  Kepetition.  The  authentic  History,  with  which  I  now  present 
the  Public,  is  an  Instance  of  the  great  Good  that  Book  is  likely  to  do, 
and  of  the  Prevalence  of  Example  which  I  have  just  observed,  since  it 
will  appear  that  it  was  by  keeping  the  excellent  Pattern  of  his  Sister's 
Virtues  before  his  Eyes  that  Mr.  Joseph  Andrews  was  chiefly  enabled  to 
preserve  his  Purity  in  the  midst  of  such  great  Temptations. 

But  after  a  few  chapters  the  author  ceases  to  poke 
fun  at  '  Pamela,'  and  the  story  becomes  a  most  amusing 
description  of  men  and  manners,  chiefly,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, of  low  life,  such  as  was  to  be  found  in  country 
inns  and  stables,  and  Kichardson  was  indignant  that 
such  a  work  should  be  brought  in  contact  with  his  own. 

The  most  finely  finished  portrait  in  the  book  is  the 
inimitable  Parson  Adams,  who  is  thus  introduced  :— 

Mr.  Abraham  Adams  was  an  excellent  Scholar.  He  was  a  perfect 
Master  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages,  to  which  he  added  a  great 
Share  of  Knowledge  in  the  Oriental  Tongues,  and  could  read  and  translate 
French,  Italian,  and  Spanish.  He  had  applied  many  Years  to  the  most 
severe  Study,  and  had  treasured  up  a  Fund  of  Learning,  rarely  to  be  met 
with  in  a  University.  He  was,  besides,  a  Man  of  good  Sense,  good  Parts, 
and  good  Nature ;  but  was,  at  the  same  time,  as  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
Ways  of  this  World  as  an  Infant  just  entered  into  it  could  possibly  be. 
As  he  had  never  any  Intention  to  deceive,  so  he  never  suspected  such  a 
Design  in  others.  He  was  generous,  friendly,  and  brave,  to* an  Excess  ; 
but  Simplicity  was  his  Characteristic.  His  Virtue,  and  his  other  Qualifi- 
cations, as  they  rendered  him  equal  to  his  Office,  so  they  made  him  an 
agreeable  and  valuable  Companion ;  and  had  so  much  endeared  and  well 
recommended  him  to  a  Bishop,  that,  at  the  Age  of  Fifty,  he  was  provided 
with  a  handsome  Income  of  twenty-three  Pounds  a  Year :  which,  how- 
ever, he  could  not  make  any  great  Figure  with,  because  he  lived  in  a  dear 
Country  and  was  a  little  incumbered  with  a  Wife  and  six  Children. 

The  parson  accompanies  Joseph  and  his  true-love 
Fanny  through  all  their  surprising  adventures,  and  in 
the  last  chapter  he  performed  the  marriage  ceremony  of 
the  happy  lovers — 


FIELDING  407 

at  which  nothing  was  so  remarkable  as  the  extraordinary  and  unaffected 
Modesty  of  Fanny,  unless  the  true  Christian  Piety  of  Adams,  who  publicly 
rebuked  Mr.  Booby  and  Pamela  for  laughing  in  so  sacred  a  Place  and  so 
solemn  an  Occasion. 

The  years  which  immediately  followed  the  publication 
of  '  Joseph  Andrews '  were  times  of  trouble  for  Fielding. 
His  means  were  exhausted,  he  was  compelled  once  more  to 
write  for  the  stage,  and—worst  trial  of  all— -his  beautiful 
and  loving  wife  sickened  and  died.  Some  years  later 
he  married  her  maid,  and  we  are  told — 

The  maid  had  few  personal  charms,  but  was  an  excellent  creature, 
devotedly  attached  to  her  mistress,  and  almost  broken-hearted  for  her 
loss.  In  the  first  agonies  of  his  own  grief,  which  approached  to  frenzy, 
he  found  no  relief  but  from  weeping  along  with  her,  nor  solace  when  a 
degree  calmer  but  in  talking  to  her  of  the  angel  they  mutually  regretted. 
This  made  her  his  habitual  confidential  associate,  and  in  process  of  time 
he  began  to  think  he  could  not  give  his  children  a  tenderer  mother,  or 
secure  for  himself  a  more  faithful  housekeeper  and  nurse. 

But  Fielding  had  a  few  good  friends,  and  in  the  dedi- 
cation of  '  Tom  Jones '  he  speaks  of  three  of  them,  Lord 
Lyttelton,  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and  Ealph  Allen,  of 
whom  Pojfe  wrote  : — 

Let  humble  Allen,  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it  fame. 

In  1748,  through  the  interest  of  Lyttelton,  he  was 
appointed  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  Westminster,  and 
took  up  his  abode  in  Bow  Street.  He  was  thus  assured 
of  a  maintenance,  but  the  office  was  of  little  dignity  and 
the  duties  were  very  disagreeable  and  even  disgusting. 

In  February  1749  *  Tom  Jones  '  was  published,  and 
the  world  had  two  masterpieces  before  it,  for  *  Clarissa  ' 
had  appeared  the  year  before. 


4o8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  two  books  differed  immensely  ;  for  '  Tom  Jones  ' 
contains  little  that  is  pathetic,  and  very  much  that  is 
vulgar  and  low.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Fielding 
shows  himself  the  greater  master,  though  the  judgment 
of  Coleridge  is  perhaps  too  emphatic. 

I  loathe  the  cant  which  can  recommend  '  Pamela '  and  '  Clarissa 
Harlowe  '  as  strictly  moral,  while  '  Tom  Jones  '  is  prohibited  as  loose. 
I  do  not  speak  of  young  women,  but  a  young  man  whose  heart  or  feelings 
can  be  injured,  or  even  his  passions  excited,  by  this  novel,  is  already 
thoroughly  corrupt.  There  is  a  cheerful,  sunshiny,  breezy  spirit  that 
prevails  everywhere,  closely  contrasted  with  the  close,  hot,  dry,  dreamy 
continuity  of  Richardson. 

The  story  of  '  Tom  Jones '  is  divided  into  eighteen 
books,  to  each  of  which  is  prefixed  a  chapter  in  which 
Fielding  speaks  directly  to  his  audience,  '  bringing  his 
armchair  to  the  proscenium  and  chatting  with  us  in  all 
the  lusty  ease  of  his  fine  English.' l 

The  following  extract  is  from  the  initial  chapter  to 
Book  X. 

Reader,  it  is  impossible  we  should  know  what  Sort  of  Person  thou 
wilt  be.  For  perhaps  thou  may'st  be  as  learned  in  Human  Nature  as 
Shakespeare  himself  was,  and  perhaps  thou  may'st  be  no  wiser  than 
some  of  his  Editors.  Now,  lest  this  latter  should  be  the  Case,  we  think 
proper,  before  we  go  any  farther  together,  to  give  thee  a  few  wholesome 
Admonitions,  that  thou  may'st  not  as  grossly  misunderstand  and  mis- 
represent us  as  some  of  the  said  Editors  have  misunderstood  and  mis- 
represented their  author.  First,  then,  we  warn  thee  not  too  hastily  to 
condemn  any  of  the  Incidents  in  this  our  History,  as  impertinent  and 
foreign  to  our  main  Design,  because  thou  dost  not  immediately  conceive 
in  what  Manner  such  Incident  may  conduce  to  that  Design.  This  Work 
may,  indeed,  be  considered  as  a  great  Creation  of  our  own ;  and  for  a 
little  Reptile  of  a  Critic  to  presume  to  find  Fault  with  any  of  its  Parts, 
without  knowing  the  manner  in  which  the  Whole  is  connected,  and  before 

1  George  Eliot. 


FIELDING  409 

he  comes  to  the  final  Catastrophe,  is  a  most  presumptuous  Absurdity. 
The  Allusion  and  Metaphor  we  have  here  made  use  of,  we  must  acknow- 
ledge to  be  infinitely  too  great  for  our  occasion ;  but  there  is,  indeed,  no 
other  which  is  at  all  adequate  to  express  the  Difference  between  an 
Author  of  the  first  Eate,  and  a  Critic  of  the  lowest. 

Among  the  multitude  of  characters  in  '  Tom  Jones,' 
the  one  of  most  dignity  is  Mr.  Allworthy,  in  whom  Field- 
ing is  thought  to  have  portrayed  the  good  Ealph  Allen ; 
but  the  most  amusing  perhaps  is  the  jovial,  hot-tempered 
Squire  Western,  whose  bursts  of  passion  and  oddity  of 
behaviour  afford  us  perpetual  enjoyment.  In  the  last 
chapter  we  part  from  him  with  kindly  feelings. 

Squire  Western  hath  resigned  his  Family  Seat  and  the  greater  Part 
of  his  Estate  to  his  Son-in-law,  and  hath  retired  to  a  lesser  .House  of  his, 
in  another  Part  of  the  Country,  which  is  better  for  Hunting.  Indeed,  he 
is  often  as  a  Visitant  with  Mr.  Jones,  who,  as  well  as  his  Daughter,  hath 
an  infinite  Delight  in  doing  every  Thing  in  their  Power  to  please  him. 
And  this  Desire  of  theirs  is  attended  with  such  Success,  that  the  old 
Gentleman  declares  he  was  never  happy  in  his  Life  till  now.  He  hath 
here  a  Parlour  and  Ante-chamber  to  himself,  where  he  gets  drunk  with 
whom  he  pleases  ;  and  his  Daughter  is  still  as  ready  as  formerly  to 
play  to  him  whenever  he  desires  it. 

He  spends  much  of  his  Time  in  the  Nursery,  where  he  declares  the 
Tattling  of  his  little  Grand-Daughter,  who  is  above  a  Year  and  a  half  old, 
is  sweeter  Music  than  the  finest  Cry  of  Dogs  in  England. 

Fielding  wrote  one  other  great  novel,  his  *  Amelia,' 
which  was  published  in  1751.  Johnson,  who  was  no  lover 
of  Fielding,  read  it  through  without  stopping,  and  declared 
Amelia  to  be  *  the  most  pleasing  of  all  the  heroines  of  the 
romances.'  Once  again  in  this  novel  did  Fielding  por- 
tray the  beauty  and  gentleness  and  self-sacrifice  of  his 
first  wife,  and  Captain  Booth  is  no  doubt  a  picture  of  the 
novelist  himself. 

Three  years  later  Fielding's  health  broke  down  com- 


410        HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

pletely,  and  with  his  wife  and  one  of  his  children  he  sailed 
to  Lisbon,  and  the  narrative  of  the  voyage  gives  us  a 
pleasing  picture  of  his  manly  and  affectionate  nature. 
He  lived  only  a  few  months  after  landing,  and  died  October 
1754. 

His  kinswoman  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  wrote— 

I  am  sorry  for  Fielding's  death,  not  only  as  I  shall  read  no  more  of 
his  writings,  but  I  believe  he  has  lost  more  than  others,  as  no  man  en- 
joyed life  more  than  he  did.  His  happy  constitution  (even  when  he  had 
with  great  pains  half  demolished  it)  made  him  forget  everything  when 
he  was  before  a  venison  pasty,  or  over  a  flask  of  champaign  ;  and  I  am 
persuaded  he  has  known  more  happy  moments  than  any  prince  upon  earth. 

Tobias  Smollett,  of  whom  we  have  now  to  speak,  be- 
longed to  an  ancient  Scotch  family,  and  was  born  in  1721 
on  the  banks  of  the  Leven,  which  he  lovingly  praises  in 
1  Humphrey  Clinker.'  He  was  educated  at  Dumbarton  and 
Glasgow,  and  was  then  apprenticed  to  a  surgeon.  But 
he  loved  literature  more  than  medicine,  and  at  the  age  of 
nineteen  he  came  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune  as  a  writer. 
His  tragedy  '  The  Kegicide '  found  little  or  no  success, 
and  in  1741  he  went  as  surgeon's  mate  on  board  a  man- 
of-war  in  the  expedition  against  Carthagena. 

A  fewyears  later  Smollett  quitted  the  service,  disgusted 
with  its  drudgery,  and  began  to  practise  as  a  physician 
in  London,  but  with  no  great  success. 

In  1748  he  published  his  first  novel,  *  The  Adventures 
of  Koderick  Random,'  in  which  his  own  youthful  experi- 
ences are  pretty  faithfully  portrayed.  Lieutenant 
Bowling  is  the  first  of  the  line  of  old  sea  dogs  whom 
Smollett  loved  to  picture,  and  he  is  thus  introduced  :— 

He  was  a  strong-built  man,  somewhat  bandy-legged,  with  a  neck  like 
that  of  a  bull,  and  a  face  which  (you  might  easily  perceive)  had  with- 


SMOLLETT  411 

stood  the  most  obstinate  assaults  of  the  weather.  His  dress  consisted 
of  a  soldier's  coat  altered  for  him  by  the  ship's  tailor  ;  a  striped  flannel 
jacket ;  a  pair  of  red  breeches,  japanned  with  pitch ;  clean  grey  worsted 
stockings  ;  large  silver  buckles,  that  covered  three-fourths  of  his  shoes ; 
a  silver-laced  hat,  whose  crown  overlooked  the  brims  about  an  inch  and 
a  half ;  a  black  bobwig  in  buckle ;  a  check  shirt ;  a  silk  handkerchief ;  a 
hanger  with  a  brass  handle,  girded  to  his  thigh  by  a  tarnished  laced 
belt ;  and  a  good  oak  plant  under  his  arm. 

In  the  course  of  the  story,  the  attack  on  Carthagena 
is  described,  with  the  miserable  mismanagement  which 
caused  its  failure. 

The  sick  and  wounded  were  squeezed  into  certain  vessels,  which  thence 
obtained  the  name  of  hospital  ships,  though,  methinks,  they  scarce  de- 
served such  a  creditable  title,  seeing  few  of  them  could  boast  of  their 
surgeon,  nurse,  or  cook ;  and  the  space  between  decks  was  so  confined, 
that  the  miserable  patients  had  not  room  to  sit  upright  in  their  beds. 
Their  wounds  and  stumps  being  neglected,  contracted  filth  and  putre- 
faction, and  millions  of  maggots  were  hatched  amidst  the  corruption  of 
their  sores. 

*  Koderick  Random '  was  a  great  success,  and  Smollett 
might  compare  not  unfavourably  with  Richardson  and 
Fielding,  though  he  lacked  the  pathos  and  delicate  mental 
analysis  of  the  former,  and  the  genial  sunny  humour  of 
the  latter.  His  special  excellence  lay  rather  in  his  broad 
humour  approaching  to  caricature,  in  his  caustic  wit,  and 
in  his  inexhaustible  store  of  incidents. 

Three  years  later  '  Peregrine  Pickle  '  appeared,  with 
a  new  group  of  sea  dogs,  Commodore  Trunnion,  Lieu- 
tenant Hatchway,  and  Tom  Pipes,  who  are  even  more 
amusing  than  their  predecessors  in  '  Roderick  Random.' 
The  account  of  the  commodore's  wedding,  with  all  its 
ludicrous  accompaniments  and  mishaps,  is  one  of  the 
most  humorous  pieces  imaginable. 


412        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Smollett  afterwards  undertook  various  literary  works, 
translated  *  Don  Quixote,'  wrote  a  history  of  England, 
edited  the  '  Critical  Review/  and  wrote  the  '  Adventures 
of  Ferdinand  Count  Fathom,'  the  'Adventures  of  Sir 
Launcelot  Greaves,'  and  the  *  Adventures  of  an  Atom.' 

About  1770  his  health  broke  down,  and,  as  Fielding 
had  done,  he  sought  refuge  with  his  wife  in  a  warmer 
climate.  He  found  a  home  in  a  village  near  Leghorn, 
and  there  he  wrote  the  last  and  best  of  all  his  works, 
*  The  Expedition  of  Humphrey  Clinker,'  the  only  work 
in  which  he  attains  the  sweet  geniality  of  Fielding. 

The  novel  of  •  Humphrey  Clinker  '  is,  I  do  think,  the  most  laughable 
story  that  has  ever  been  written  since  the  goodly  art  of  novel -writing 
began.  Winifred  Jenkins  and  Tabitha  Bramble  must  keep  Englishmen 
on  the  grin  for  ages  yet  to  come ;  t  and  in  their  letters  and  the  story 
cf  their  loves  there  is  a  perpetual  fount  of  sparkling  laughter  as  inex- 
haustible as  Bladud's  well.1 

From  his  Italian  retreat  Smollett  turned  with  sick  and 
longing  eyes  to  his  native  land,  and  old  Matthew  Bramble 
is  made  thus  to  describe  the  river  Leven  : — 

This  charming  stream  is  the  outlet  of  Lough  Lomond,  and  through 
a  tract  of  four  miles  pursues  its  winding  course,  murmuring  over  a  bed 
of  pebbles  till  it  joins  the  Frith  at  Dumbritton.  A  very  little  above  its 
source,  on  the  lake,  stands  the  House  of  Cameron,  belonging  to  Mr. 
Smollett,  so  embosomed  in  an  oak  wood  that  we  did  not -see  it  till  we 
were  within  fifty  yards  of  the  door.  I  have  seen  the  Lago  di  Garda, 
Albano,  De  Vico,  Bolsena,  and  Geneva  ;  and,  upon  my  honour,  I  prefer 
Lough  Lomond  to  them  all.  Everything  here  is  romantick  beyond  de- 
scription. This  country  is  justly  stiled  the  Arcadia  of  Scotland,  and 
I  do  not  doubt  but  it  may  vie  with  Arcadia  in  everything  but  climate. 
I  am  sure  it  excels  it  in  verdure,  wood,  and  water. 

Smollett  died  in  October  1771,  and  was  buried  at 
Leghorn. 

1  Thackeray. 


STERNE  413 

Lawrence  Sterne,  the  famous  author  of  '  Tristram 
Shandy,'  was  born  at  Clonmel  in  November  1713.  His 
father  was  an  ensign  in  a  regiment  which  had  returned 
but  a  few  days  before  from  Flanders,  and  the  history  of 
the  boy's  early  life  is  little  more  than  a  record  of  marches 
and  countermarches  from  one  garrison  town  to  another. 
Many  births  and  deaths  of  little  brothers  and  sisters  are 
recorded,  and  of  one  of  them  Sterne  says  :— 

This  pretty  blossom  fell,  at  the  age  of  three  years,  in  the  barracks  of 
Dublin.  She  was,  as  I  well  remember,  of  a  fine  delicate  frame,  not  made 
to  last  long,  as  were  most  of  my  father's  babes. 

His  father  went  with  his  regiment  on  the  *  Vigo  Ex- 
pedition '  in  1719,  then  a  few  years  later  he  took  part  in 
the  defence  of  Gibraltar,  and  was  there  nearly  killed  in  a 
duel,  and  finally  he  was  sent  to  the  West  Indies  and  died 
there  in  1731. 

My  father  was  a  little  smart  man ;  active,  to  the  last  degree,  in  all 
exercises ;  most  patient  of  fatigue  and  disappointments,  of  which  it 
pleased  God  to  give  him  full  measure  ;  he  was  in  his  temper  somewhat 
rapid  and  hasty,  but  of  a  kindly,  sweet  disposition,  void  of  all  design  ; 
and  so  innocent  in  his  own  intentions  that  he  suspected  no  one,  so  that 
you  might  have  cheated  him  ten  times  in  a  day  if  nine  had  not  been 
sufficient  for  your  purpose. 

Kecollections  of  his  father  were  doubtless  blended  in 
Sterne's  portraits  of  Mr.  Shandy  and  of  Uncle  Toby. 

"When  the  boy  was  about  ten  years  old  he  ceased  to 
follow  the  regiment  and  was  sent  to  a  school  in  Halifax. 
His  great-grandfather  had  died  Archbishop  of  York  in 
1683,  and  he  had  uncles  and  cousins  in  Yorkshire  who 
were  able  to  help  him.  In  1732  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge, 
was  ordained  in  1736,  and  through  the  interest  of  his 


414        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

uncle  Archdeacon  Sterne  he  became  Vicar  of  Sutton  and 
Prebendary  of  York. 

In  1741  he  married,  and  in  the  fragmentary  'Life' 
which  he  wrote  and  addressed  to  his  daughter  he  gives 
an  affecting  account  of  his  courtship.  Unhappily,  as 
years  went  by,  his  love  for  his  wife  grew  cold,  but  his 
affection  for  his  daughter  was  always  warm  and  sincere. 

In  1760  Sterne  took  the  London  world  by  storm  with 
the  first  two  volumes  of '  Tristram  Shandy.'  *  My  rooms,' 
he  writes,  '  are  filling  every  hour  with  great  people  of  the 
first  rank,  who  strive  who  shall  most  honour  me,'  and  he 
also  speaks  ef  being  engaged  fourteen  dinners  deep. 
Bishop  Warburton  presented  him  with  a  purse  of  gold, 
and  Lord  Falconberg  gave  him  another  Yorkshire  living. 
A  new  edition  of  the  two  volumes  was  required  in  a  few 
months,  and  with  them  the  '  Sermons  of  Mr.  Yorick ' 
were  announced  and  were  speedily  published.  The  poet 
Gray  adds  his  tribute  of  praise,  and  writes  in  June  : — 

'  Tristram  Shandy  '  is  a  still  greater  object  of  admiration,  the  man 
as  well  as  the  book  :  one  is  invited  to  dinner,  where  he  dines,  a  fortnight 
before.  As  to  the  volumes  yet  published,  there  is  much  good  fun  in 
them  and  humour,  sometimes  hit  and  sometimes  missed.  Have  you 
read  his  '  Sermons,'  with  his  own  comick  figure,  from  a  painting  by 
Beynolds,  at  the  head  of  them  ?  They  are  in  the  style  most  proper  for 
the  pulpit,  and  show  a  strong  imagination  and  a  sensible  heart ;  but 
you  see  him  often  tottering  on  the  verge  of  laughter  and  ready  to  throw 
his  periwig  in  the  face  of  the  audience. 

Two  more  volumes  of  *  Tristram  Shandy  '  appeared 
in  1761,  and  two  more  in  the  year  following,  and  on  each 
occasion  Sterne  came  up  to  London  to  superintend  the 
publication  and  enjoy  the  triumph. 

His  health  which  had  never  been  robust  now  gave  him 


STERNE  415 

serious  alarm,  and  he  determined  to  visit  the  south  of 
France.  In  January  1762  he  reached  Paris,  and  became 
as  great  a  lion  there  as  in  London.  He  went  as  far 
south  as  Toulouse,  sent  for  his  wife  and  daughter  to  join 
him,  and  in  May  1764  he  returned  to  England,  leaving 
wife  and  child  behind  him. 

In  January  1765  two  more  volumes  of  *  Tristram 
Shandy '  were  published,  one  of  which  contained  the 
notes  of  his  sojourn  in  France,  and  in  October  Sterne  set 
forth  once  more  in  quest  of  health.  He  went  rapidly 
through  France  and  Italy,  spending  the  winter  in  Naples, 
and  was  back  again  in  Yorkshire  in  June  1766. 

The  ninth  and  last  volume  of  l  Tristram  Shandy '  was 
published  early  in  1767,  and  Sterne  then  wrote  his 
'  Sentimental  Journey,'  the  famous  outcome  of  his  French 
and  Italian  travels.  This  was  published  in  February 
1768,  and  the  next  month  Sterne  died  at  his  lodgings  in 
Bond  Street,  attended  only  by  strangers. 

'  Tristram  Shandy  '  is  one  of  the  strangest  books,  with 
its  fantastical  arrangement  of  subjects,  its  display  of 
curious  erudition,  its  sparkling  wit,  and  its  gleams  of 
humour.  Of  Tristram  himself  little  is  said,  but  lifelike 
pictures  are  drawn  of  Mr.  Shandy  with  his  whimsical 
notions,  of  Parson  Yorick,  who  is  the  author  himself, 
and,  above  all,  of  Uncle  Toby  and  his  faithful  servant, 
Corporal  Trim.  The  creation  of  these  last  two  characters 
is  Sterne's  greatest  achievement. 

Carlyle,  after  speaking  of  Shakspere  and  Ben  Jonson 
and  Swift  as  humourists,  says : — 

Sterne  follows  next ;  our  last  specimen  of  humour,  and,  with  all  his 
faults,  our  best,  our  finest,  if  not  our  strongest ;  for  Yorick,  and  Corporal 


416       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH   LITERATURE 

Trim,  and  Uncle  Toby  have  yet  no  brother  but  in  Don  Quixote,  far  as 
he  lies  above  them. 

The  following  is  part  of  the  description  given  of 
Yorick  : — 

With  all  this  sail,  poor  Yorick  carried  not  one  ounce  of  ballast ;  he 
was  utterly  unpractised  in  the  world ;  and,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six, 
knew  just  about  as  well  how  to  steer  his  course  in  it  as  a  romping,  un- 
suspicious girl  of  thirteen.  So  that  upon  his  first  setting  out,  the  brisk 
gale  of  his  spirits,  as  you  will  imagine,  ran  him  foul  ten  times  in  a  day 
of  somebody's  tackling ;  and  as  the  grave  and  more  slow-paced  were 
oftenest  in  his  way,  you  may  likewise  imagine  'twas  with  such  he  had 
generally  the  ill-luck  to  get  the  most  entangled. 

A  few  pages  later  there  is  a  pathetic  account  of  Yorick' s 
death  after  parting  with  his  friend  Eugenius.  The 
character  of  Uncle  Toby  is  drawn  with  so  many  fine 
touches  that  it  cannot  well  be  shown  in  a  single  extract, 
but  the  following  describes  his  delight  in  Trim's  project 
of  playing  at  fortifications  in  the  bowling-green. 

My  uncle  Toby  blushed  as  red  as  scarlet  as  Trim  went  on,  but  it  was 
not  a  blush  of  guilt,  of  modesty,  or  of  anger,  it  was  a  blush  of  joy  ;  he 
was  fired  with  Corporal  Trim's  project  and  description.  Trim  !  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  thou  hast  said  enough.  We  might  begin  the  campaign, 
continued  Trim,  on  the  very  day  that  his  Majesty  and  the  Allies  take 
the  field  and  demolish  them  town  by  town  as  fast  as—  Trim,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby,  say  no  more.  Your  Honour,  continued  Trim,  might  sit  in 
your  arm-chair  (pointing  to  it)  this  fine  weather,  giving  me  your  orders, 
and  I  would —  Say  no  more,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby.  Besides, 
your  Honour  would  get  not  only  pleasure  and  good  pastime,  but  good 
air,  and  good  exercise,  and  good  health,  and  your  Honour's  wound  would 
be  well  in  a  month.  Thou  hast  said  enough,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby  (putting  his  hand  into  his  breeches  pocket).  I  like  thy  project 
mightily.  And  if  your  Honour  pleases,  I'll  this  moment  go  and  buy  a 
pioneer's  spade  to  take  down  with  us,  and  I'll  bespeak  a  shovel  and 
a  pick-axe  and  a  couple  of —  Say  no  more  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
leaping  up  upon  one  leg  quite  overcome  with  rapture,  and  thrusting  a 
guinea  into  Trim's  hand.  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  say  no  more ;  but 


JOHNSON  AND  BOSWELL  417 

go  down,  Trim,  this  moment,  my  lad,  and  bring  up  my  supper  this 
instant. 

Trim  ran  down,  and  brought  up  his  master's  supper  to  no  purpose. 
Trim's  plan  of  operation  ran  so  in  my  uncle  Toby's  head,  he  could  not 
taste  it.  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  get  me  to  bed.  'Twas  all  one. 
Corporal  Trim's  description  had  fired  his  imagination,  my  uncle  Toby 
could  not  shut  his  eyes. 


JOHNSON   AND   BOSWELL 

DR.  JOHNSON  exercised  in  the  second  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  the  same  sway  in  the  literary  world  which  Addi- 
son  and  Pope  possessed  in  the  early  half.  But  this  in- 
fluence arose  not  so  much  from  any  published  writings 
of  his  as  from  the  charm  and  power  of  his  conversation, 
and  happily  for  us  his  life  has  been  recorded  in  a  book 
which  is  better  than  the  best  of  Johnson's. 

Johnson  was  born  in  1709  in  Lichfield,  where  his 
father  was  a  bookseller,  fairly  prosperous  at  that  time, 
but  he  became  poor  as  his  son  grew  towards  manhood. 
From  his  birth  Samuel  was  a  sickly  child.  He  was  put 
out  to  nurse,  and  he  tells  us  :— 

In  ten  weeks  I  was  taken  home,  a  poor,  diseased  infant,  almost  blind. 
I  remember  my  Aunt  Ford  told  me  she  would  not  have  picked  such  a 
poor  creature  up  in  the  street. 

He  grew  up  to  be  a  sturdy  man,  but  was  troubled  all 
his  life  with  dimness  of  sight,  and  with  innumerable 
ailments  which  made  life  a  burden  to  him.  His  strange 
unconscious  gesticulations  were  the  wonder  and  amuse- 
ment of  those  who  saw  him. 


4i8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Once  he  collected  a  laughing  mob  in  Twickenham  meadows  by  his 
antics  :  his  hands  imitating  the  motions  of  a  jockey  riding  at  full  speed, 
and  his  feet  twisting  in  and  out  to  make  heels  and  toes  touch  alternately. 
He  presently  sat  down  and  took  out  a  Grotius  De  Veritate,  over  which 
he  seesawed  so  violently  that  the  mob  ran  back  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.1 

He  was  a  scholar  at  Lichfield  Grammar  School  till  he 
was  sixteen,  and  then  for  two  years  he  was  at  home  and 
gathered  knowledge  from  the  folios  in  his  father's  shop. 
Then  for  three  }Tears  he  was  at  Oxford,  but  left  without 
a  degree,  and  he  appears  to  have  gained  little  instruction 
there.  But  he  loved  to  revisit  Oxford,  and  in  later  years 
he  accepted  with  pleasure  and  pride  the  degree  which 
the  university  conferred  upon  him. 

After  leaving  Oxford  Johnson  made  several  ineffectual 
attempts  to  gain  a  livelihood  by  teaching,  and  in  1737 
he  came  to  London,  and  like  Smollett  with  a  tragedy  in 
his  pocket. 

Two  years  before  he  had  married  his  <  dear  Tetty,'  who 
/was  twenty  years  his  senior,  but  to  whom  he  was  most 
sincerely  attached. 

His  life  in  London  was  for  some  time  a  strenuous  and 
almost  hopeless  fight  with  misery  and  want.  We  are  told 
that  in  later  and  happier  years — 

When  Dr.  Johnson  one  day  read  his  own  satire,  in  which  the  life  of 
a  scholar  is  painted,  with  the  various  obstructions  thrown  in  his  way  to 
fortune  and  to  fame,  he  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

The  satire  was  *  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,'  the 
best  of  Johnson's  poems,  and  the  following  are  a  few  of 
the  lines  :— 

1  Leslie  Stephen. 


JOHNSON  AND  BOS  WELL  419 

When  first  the  College  Eolls  receive  his  name, 
The  young  Enthusiast  quits  his  Ease  for  Fame  ; 
Through  all  his  Veins  the  Fever  of  Renown 
Spreads  from  the  strong  Contagion  of  the  Gown ; 
O'er  Bodley's  Dome  his  future  Labours  spread, 
And  Bacon's  Mansion  trembles  o'er  his  Head. 
Are  these  thy  Views  ?  proceed,  illustrious  Youth, 
And  Virtue  guard  thee  to  the  Throne  of  Truth  ! 
Yet  should  thy  Soul  indulge  the  gen'rous  Heat, 
Till  captive  Science  yields  her  last  Retreat ; 
Should  Reason  guide  thee  with  her  brightest  Ray, 
And  pour  on  misty  Doubt  resistless  Day ; 
Should  no  Disease  thy  torpid  Veins  invade, 
Nor  Melancholy's  Phantoms  haunt  thy  Shade ; 
Yet  hope  not  Life  from  Grief  or  Danger  free, 
Nor  think  the  Doom  of  Man  revers'd  for  thee  : 
Deign  on  the  passing  World  to  turn  thine  Eyes, 
And  pause  awhile  from  Letters  to  be  wise  ; 
There  mark  what  ills  the  Scholar's  Life  assail, 
Toil,  Envy,  Want,  the  Patron,  and  the  Jail. 
See  Nations,  slowly  wise  and  meanly  just, 
To  buried  Merit  raise  the  tardy  Bust. 
If  Dreams  yet  flatter,  once  again  attend, 
Hear  Lydidt's  life  and  Galileo's  end. 

Johnson  laboured  chiefly  for  Cave,  the  publisher  of 
the  '  Gentleman's  Magazine/  and  did  all  kinds  of  literary 
hack  work,  verses,  translations,  biographies,  and  reports 
of  parliamentary  speeches  under  the  title  of  '  The  Senate 
of  Lilliput.'  In  1738  he  published  his  satire  *  London,' 
and  in  1749  his  '  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.'  In  this 
latter  year  his  tragedy  of  '-  Irene '  was  at  length  brought 
to  light,  and  through  the  interest  of  his  friend  Garrick 
was  acted  at  Drury  Lane,  ran  its  nine  nights,  and  pro- 
duced for  its  author  some  few  hundred  pounds. 

In  1750  he  started  the  '  Eambler,'  a  periodical  like 
the  '  Spectator,1  published  three  times  a  week,  and  it  ran 

EB  2 


420       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

for  three  years.  IJ;  gave  Johnson  a  great  reputation,  but 
it  yields  little  pleasure  now  in  comparison  with  the 
1  Tatler '  and  the  *  Spectator. '  Indeed,  in  Johnson's  own 
day  the  difference  was  felt,  and  in  one  of  the  numbers  we 
read  : — 

Some  were  angry  that  the  Rambler  did  not,  like  the^pectator,  intro- 
duce himself  to  the  acquaintance  of  the  public  by  an  account  of  his  own 
birth  and  studies,  an  enumeration  of  his  adventures,  and  a  description 
of  his  physiognomy.  Others  soon  began  to  remark  that  he  was  a 
solemn,  serious,  dictatorial  writer,  without  sprightliness  or  gaiety,  and 
called  out  with  vehemence  for  mirth  and  humour. 

I  make  not  the  least  question  that  all  these  monitors  intend  the 
promotion  of  my  design,  and  the  instruction  of  my  readers ;  but  they  do 
not  know,  or  do  not  reflect,  that  an  author  has  a  rule  of  choice  peculiar 
to  himself,  and  selects  those  subjects  which  he  is  best  qualified  to  treat 
by  the  course  of  his  studies,  or  the  accidents  of  his  life ;  that  some 
topics  of  amusement  have  been  already  treated  with  too  much  success  to 
invite  a  competition ;  and  that  he  who  endeavours  to  gain  many  readers 
must  try  various  arts  of  invitation,  essay  every  avenue  of  pleasure, 
and  make  frequent  changes  in  his  methods  of  approach. 

Three  days  after  the  last  'Rambler '  appeared,  in  March 
1752,  Johnson's  wife  died,  and  his  grief  was  overwhelm- 
ing. Thirty  years  later  he  wrote  in  his  diary  : — 

This  is  the  day  on  which,  in  1752,  dear  Tetty  died.  I  have  now 
uttered  a  prayer  of  repentance  and  contrition;  perhaps  Tetty  knows 
that  I  prayed  for  her.  Perhaps  Tetty  is  now  praying  for  me.  God  help 
me.  Thou,  God, 'art  merciful ;  hear  my  prayers  and  enable  me  to  trust 
in  Thee. 

We  were  married  almost  seventeen  years,  and  have  now  been  parted 
thirty. 

When  his  wife  died,  Johnson  was  labouring  at  his 
'  Dictionary,'  and  this  gigantic  task  was  finished  in  1755, 
and  the  famous  letter  to  Lord  Chesterfield  was  written, 
a  letter  so  often  quoted,  and  which  is  really  one  of  John- 
son's finest  prose  pieces. 


JOHNSON  AND  BOS  WELL  421 

A  few  years  later  his  mother  died  at  a  very  great  age. 
Johnson  could  not  afford  to  go  to  Lichfield,  but  he  raised 
the  money  for  the  funeral  expenses  by  writing  his  story 
of  '  Basselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia.' 

In  1762  he  received  from  the  bounty  of  the  new  king 
George  III.  a  pension  of  300L  a  year,  and  his  struggles 
with  want  were  ended.  He  was  able  to  indulge  his 
feelings  of  pity  for  the  poor  and  wretched,  and  he  spent 
upon  them  full  two-thirds  of  his  income.  He  would 
give,  even  though  his  charity  might  be  misused. 

'  Life  is  a  pill  (he  would  say)  which  none  of  us  can  bear  to  swallow 
without  gilding ;  yet  for  the  poor  we  delight  in  stripping  it  still  barer, 
and  are  not  ashamed  to  show  even  visible  displeasure,  if  ever  the  bitter 
taste  is  taken  from  their  mouths.'  In  pursuance  of  these  principles  he 
nursed  whole  nests  of  people  in  his  house,  where  the  lame,  the  blind,  the 
sick,  and  the  sorrowful  found  a  sure  retreat  from  all  the  evils,  whence 
his  little  income  could  secure  them.1 

He  was  surrounded  with  friends  who  loved  and  reve- 
renced him,  Goldsmith,  and  Burke,  and  Eeynolds,  and 
Garrick,  and  Burney,  and  many  others  who  live  again  in 
the  marvellous  pages  of  Boswell. 

Of  Boswell  himself  it  is  now  time  to  say  a  few  words. 
He  was  born  in  1740,  was  the  eldest  son  of  a  Scotch 
judge,  and  himself  studied  for  the  bar  in'  Scotland  and  in 
Holland.  He  was  a  man  far  too  fond  of  eating  and 
drinking,  was  vain  and  talkative,  and  had  an  insatiable 
desire  for  notoriety.  Throughout  his  life  he  eagerly 
sought  the  acquaintance  of  famous  men,  and  Voltaire 
and  Kousseau,  Hume  and  Wesley,  Wilkes  and  Paoli  were 
only  some  of  those  whom  he  ran  after. 

1  Mrs.  Piozzi. 


422        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1763  his  acquaintance  with  Johnson  began. 

He  had  sought  in  vain  in  the  preceding  year  for  an 
introduction  to  Johnson,  and  had  the  happiness  at  last 
to  meet  him  in  the  house  of  Tom  Davies,  the  actor,  who 
kept  a  bookseller's  shop  in  Kussell  Street,  Covent  Garden. 

On  Monday,  May  16,  when  I  was  sitting  in  Mr.  Davies'  back  parlour, 
after  having  drunk  tea  with  him  and  Mrs.  Davies,  Johnson  unexpectedly 
came  into  the  shop ;  and  Mr.  Davies  having  perceived  him,  through  the 
glass  door  in  the  room  in  which  we  were  sitting,  advancing  towards  us, 
he  announced  his  awful  approach  to  me,  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  an 
actor  in  the  part  of  Horatio,  when  he  addresses  Hamlet  on  the  appear- 
ance of  his  father's  ghost,  '  Look,  my  lord,  it  comes.'  I  found  I  had  a 
very  perfect  idea  of  Johnson's  figure,  from  the  portrait  of  him  painted 
by  Sir  Joshua  Keynolds  soon  after  he  had  published  his  '  Dictionary,'  in 
the  attitude  of  sitting  in  his  easy  chair  in  deep  meditation.  Mr.  Davies 
mentioned  my  name,  and  respectfully  introduced  me  to  him. 

After  a  while  Boswell  modestly  withdrew,  but  a  week 
later  he  ventured  to  pay  Johnson  a  visit. 

He  received  me  very  courteously ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  his 
apartment,  and  furniture,  and  morning  dress  were  sufficiently  uncouth. 
His  brown  suit  of  clothes  looked  very  rusty;  he  had  on  a  little  old 
shrivelled  unpowdered  wig,  which  was  too  small  for  his  head ;  his  shirt- 
neck  and  knees  of  his  breeches  were  loose ;  his  black  worsted  stockings 
ill  drawn  up,  and  he  had  a  pair  of  unbuckled  shoes  by  way  of  slippers. 
But  all  these  slovenly  particularities  were  forgotten  the  moment  that 
he  began  to  talk. 

The  acquaintance  thus  happily  begun  went  on  and 
prospered,  and  we  soon  have  pleasant  accounts  of  suppers 
at  the  Mitre,  and  of  a  visit  to  Greenwich,  and  when  in 
August  Boswell  had  to  return  to  Holland,  Johnson  to  his 
great  delight  accompanied  him  as  far  as  Harwich. 

As  the  vessel  put  out  to  sea  I  kept  my  eyes  upon  him  for  a  consider- 
able time,  while  he  remained  rolling  his  majestic  frame  in  his  usual 
manner ;  and  at  last  I  perceived  hiin  walk  back  into  the  town,  and  he 
disappeared. 


JOHNSON  AND  BOS  WELL  423 

Boswell  returned  to  London  year  by  year  with  ever 
new  delight  and  growing  admiration,  and  Miss  Burney 
describes  the  eagerness  with  which  he  hung  upon  every 
look  and  word  of  Johnson. 

Boswell  concentrated  his  whole  attention  upon  his  idol,  not  even 
answering  questions  from  others.  When  Johnson  spoke  his  eyes  goggled 
with  eagerness ;  he  leant  his  ear  almost  on  the  doctor's  shoulder ;  his 
mouth  dropped  open  to  catch  every  syllable,  and  he  seemed  to  listen  even 
to  Johnson's  breathings  as  though  they  had  some  mystical  significance. 

And  as  a  result  of  such  rapt  attention  Boswell  gives 
us  such  minute  portrait  painting  as  the  following  : — 

He  commonly  held  his  head  to  one  side  towards  his  right  shoulder, 
and  shook  it  in  a  tremulous  manner,  moving  his  body  backwards  and  for- 
wards, and  rubbing  his  left  knee  in  the  same  direction  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand.  In  the  intervals  of  articulating  he  made  various  sounds  with 
his  mouth,  sometimes  as  if  ruminating,  or  what  is  called  chewing  the 
cud,  sometimes  giving  a  half  whistle,  sometimes  making  his  tongue  play 
backwards  from  the  roof  of  his  mouth  as  if  clucking  like  a  hen,  and 
sometimes  protruding  it  against  his  upper  gums  in  front,  as  if  pro- 
nouncing quickly  under  his  breath,  too,  too,  too ;  all  this  accompanied 
sometimes  with  a  thoughtful  look,  but  more  frequently  with  a  smile. 

Macaulay  paradoxically  maintained  that  'Boswell 
attained  literary  eminence  by  reason  of  his  weaknesses, 
that  if  he  had  not  been  a  great  fool  he  would  never 
have  been  a  great  writer.'  But  Carlyle  more  wisely 

says  :— - 

That  loose-flowing,  careless-looking  work  of  his  is  as  a  picture  by  one 
of  Nature's  own  artists  ;  the  best  possible  resemblance  of  a  reality ;  like 
the  very  image  thereof  in  a  clear  mirror.  Boswell  wrote  a  good  book 
because  he  had  a  heart  and  an  eye  to  discern  wisdom,  and  an  utterance 
to  render  it  forth ;  because  of  his  free  insight,  his  lively  talent,  above  all, 
of  his  love  and  childlike  open-mindedness.  His  sneaking  sycophancies, 
his  greediness  and  forwardness,  whatever  was  bestial  and  earthly  in  him, 
are  so  many  blemishes  in  his  book,  which  still  disturb  us  in  its  clear- 
ness  ;  wholly  hindrances,  not  helps. 


424       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

For  the  remainder  of  Johnson's  life  a  few  words  must 
suffice.  He  wrote  only  one  other  great  work,  the  excel- 
lent '  Lives  of  the  Poets,'  from  which  many  extracts  have 
been  already  given.  In  1773  he  went  with  Boswell  to 
the  Hebrides,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale  to  Wales  in 
1774,  and  he  paid  with  them  a  short  visit  to  Paris  in  the 
following  year. 

In  1781  his  old  friend  Mr.  Thrale  died,  and  Mrs. 
Thrale's  marriage  some  time  after  to  Mr.  Piozzi  put  an 
end  to  an  intimacy  which  had  been  one  of  his  greatest 
comforts  during  many  years. 

In  December  1784  his  own  end  came,  and  he  was 
laid  in  the  Abbey,  where  his  friend  Garrick  had  already 
preceded  him. 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH 

IN  the  circle  of  celebrated  men  who  surrounded  the  great 
Dr.  Johnson  there  was  no  one  of  so  fine  a  genius  as 
Oliver  Goldsmith.  His  poems, '  The  Traveller  '  and '  The 
Deserted  Village,'  were  truly  described  by  Johnson  as 
finer  than  anything  that  had  appeared  since  the  days  of 
Pope ;  *  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield '  was  the  delight  of  the 
great  Goethe,  and  even  his  lighter  pieces  had  charms  of 
style  which  none  of  his  contemporaries  could  match. 
Nulluni  quod  tetiyit  non  ornavit,  he  touched  nothing  but 
he  added  a  new  grace  to  it,  said  Johnson,  and  he  spoke 
but  the  bare  truth. 

Goldsmith  was  born  in  1728  at  the  village  of  Pallas, 
in  Longford,  where  his  father  was  the  village  pastor 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  425 

'  passing  rich  on  forty  pounds  a  year.'  Two  years  later 
the  pastor  obtained  the  far  richer  living  of  Lissoy,  in 
Westmeath,  and  it  is  thought  that  Lissoy  is  the  '  Sweet 
Auburn '  of  the  '  Deserted  Village,'  idealised,  however, 
in  the  fond  recollection  of  the  poet. 

The  story  of  Goldsmith's  life  at  school  and  college  is 
one  to  call  up  smiles  and  tears.  While  he  was  still  a 
child  he  was  terribly  marked  by  the  small-pox,  and  he 
became  the  butt  of  many  a  coarse  joke  in  consequence, 
and  at  college  a  brutal  tutor  bullied  and  jeered  him  so 
that  he  ran  away  and  could  hardly  be  prevailed  upon  to 
return.  But  in  the  village  school  and  by  his  father's 
fireside  he  spent  many  happy  hours,  and  a  little  later  he 
sang  and  romped  at  the  village  inn  like  the  Tony  Lump- 
kin  of  *  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.' 

Goldsmith  left  Dublin  University  in  1749,  and  the 
next  three  years  he  spent  at  his  mother's  house  (his 
father  was  now  (dead)  in  a  kind  of  vagabond  idleness 
before  he  or  his  friends  could  determine  what  his  pro- 
fession should  be.  In  1752  they  sent  him  to  Edinburgh 
to  study  medicine,  and  two  years  later  he  passe'd  over  to 
Leyden  to  continue  his  studies,  and  then  early  in  1755  he 
started  on  his  '  travels '  from  Leyden,  '  with  a  guinea  in 
his  pocket,  one  shirt  to  his  back,  and  a  flute  in  his  hand.' 

The  story  of  the  wanderer  in  chapter  xx.  of  the 
'  Vicar  of  Wakefield '  is  thought  to  be  a  more  or  less 
faithful  picture  of  Goldsmith's  own  struggles  in  life,  and 
in  it  we  read  : — 

I  had  some  knowledge  of  music,  with  a  tolerable  voice,  and  now  turned 
what  was  once  my  amusement  into  a  present  means  of  subsistence.  I 
passed  among  the  harmless  peasants  of  Flanders,  and  among  such  of 
the  French  as  were  poor  enough  to  be  Very  merry ;  for  I  ever  found 


426       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

them  sprightly  in  proportion  to  their  wants.  Whenever  I  approached  a 
peasant's  house  towards  nightfall,  I  played  one  of  my  most  merry 
tunes,  and  that  procured  me  not  only  a  lodging  but  subsistence  for  the 
next  day. 

The  exact  course  of  his  travels  is  not  known,  but  he 
visited  Louvain,  Paris,  andEouen,  and  in  February  1756 
he  landed  at  Dover,  apparently  without  a  penny,  and  he 
must  have  begged  his  way  to  London.  A  period  of  ob- 
scure misery  followed,  of  which  we  have  no  exact  details, 
but  he  is  said  to  have  assisted  in  a  chemist's  shop,  then 
to  have  practised  as  a  doctor  among  the  poor  people  of 
Thames  bank,  then  he  became  usher  in  a  school  in 
Peckham,  and  then  hack  writer  for  Griffiths,  the  pub- 
lisher of  the  *  Monthly  Review.'  Richardson,  the  kind- 
hearted  author  of  '  Clarissa,'  helped  him  in  this  time  of 
need. 

In  1758  Goldsmith  published  his  first  work  of  any 
pretension,  '  An  Enquiry  into  the  Present  State  of  Polite 
Learning,'  from  which  one  paragraph  may  be  quoted  as 
expressing  the  author's  own  bitter  experience. 

The  poet's  poverty  is  a  standing  topic  of  contempt ;  his  writing 
for  bread  is  an  unpardonable  offence.  Perhaps,  of  all  mankind,  an 
author  in  these  times  is  used  most  hardly ;  we  keep  him  poor  and  yet 
revile  his  poverty.  Like  angry  parents  who  correct  their  children  till 
they  cry,  and  then  correct  them  for  crying,  we  reproach  him  for  living 
by  his  wit,  and  yet  allow  him  no  other  means  to  live. 

The  next  year  he  started  the  *  Bee,'  a  pleasant  little 
weekly  periodical,  something  like  the  'Rambler,'  but  with 
more  variety  and  liveliness.  It  ought  to  have  lived,  but 
it  did  not,  and  in  the  fourth  number  Goldsmith  humor- 
ously admits  his  failure. 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH  427 

Were  I  to  measure  the  merit  of  my  present  undertaking  by  its 
success,  or  the  rapidity  of  its  sale,  I  might  be  led  to  form  conclusions  by 
no  means  favourable  to  the  pride  of  an  author.  Should  I  estimate  my 
fame  by  its  extent,  every  newspaper  and  magazine  would  leave  me  far 
behind.  Their  fame  is  diffused  in  a  very  wide  circle,  that  of  some  as 
far  as  Islington,  and  some  yet  farther  still;  while  mine,  I  sincerely 
believe,  has  hardly  travelled  beyond  the  sound  of  Bow  Bell ;  and  while 
the  works  of  others  fly  like  unpinioned  swans,  I  find  my  own  move  as 
heavily  as  a  new-plucked  goose. 

In  1760  Goldsmith  was  the  chief  contributor  to  a  new 
periodical,  '  The  Public  Kegister,'  writing  for  it  the  genial 
'  Chinese  Letters/  which  were  afterwards  republished  as 
*  The  Citizen  of  the  World.'  The  work  was  suggested  by 
the  '  Lettres  Persanes  '  of  Montesquieu,  but  it  is  filled 
with  Goldsmith's  humour  and  tenderness,  and  Beau 
Tibbs  and  the  Man  in  Black  are  two  of  his  most  genuine 
creations. 

About  this  time  he  must  have  become  acquainted  with 
Johnson,  but  unhappily  Boswell  had  not  yet  come  to 
town,  and  we  do  not  know  how  or  when  the  friendship 
began.  Already  in  the  *  Bee,'  Goldsmith  in  a  whimsical 
description  of  the  travellers  in  the  stage-coach  to  the 
Temple  of  Fame  had  described  Johnson  as 

a  very  grave  personage  whom  at  some  distance  I  took  for  one  of  the 
most  reserved  and  even  disagreeable  figures  I  had  seen ;  but  as  he 
approached,  his  appearance  improved,  and  when  I  could  distinguish  him 
thoroughly,  I  perceived  that,  in  spite  of  the  seventy  of  his  brow,  he  had 
one  of  the  most  good-natured  countenances  that  could  be  imagined. 

When  Boswell  appeared  in  1762  the  friendship  was 
firmly  established,  and  he  evidently  regarded  Goldsmith 
with  somewhat  jealous  eyes,  and  the  portrait  which  he 
draws  of  him,  though  not  grossly  unjust,  is  far  too  un- 
favourable. 


428       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

His  mind  resembled  a  fertile  but  thin  soil.  There  was  a  quick  but 
not  a  strong  vegetation,  of  whatever  chanced  to  be  thrown  upon  it.  No 
deep  root  could  be  struck.  The  oak  of  the  forest  did  not  grow  there ; 
but  the  elegant  shrubbery  and  the  fragrant  parterre  appeared  in  gay  suc- 
cession. It  has  been  generally  circulated  and  believed  that  he  was  a 
mere  fool  in  conversation,  but  in  truth  this  has  been  greatly  exaggerated. 
He  had  no  doubt  a  more  than  common  share  of  that  hurry  of  ideas 
which  we  often  find  in  his  countrymen,  and  which  sometimes  produces  a 
laughable  confusion  in  expressing  them.  He  was  very  much  what  the 
French  call  un  dtourdi,  and  from  vanity  and  an  eager  desire  of  being 
conspicuous  wherever  he  was,  he  frequently  talked  carelessly  without 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  or  even  without  thought.  His  person  was 
short,  his  countenance  coarse  and  vulgar,  his  deportment  that  of  a 
scholar  awkwardly  affecting  the  easy  gentleman. 

In  1764  two  of  Goldsmith's  finest  works,  'The 
Traveller  '  and  *  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  were  completed, 
and  in  connection  with  the  latter  occurs  the  well-known 
account  given  by  Johnson  to  Bos  well. 

I  received  one  morning  a  message  from  poor  Goldsmith  that  he  was 
in  great  distress,  and  as  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  come  to  me,  begging 
that  I  would  come  to  him  as  soon  as  possible.  I  sent  him  a  guinea, 
and  promised  to  come  to  him  directly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I 
was  dressed,  and  found  that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for  his  rent, 
at  which  he  was  in  a  violent  passion.  I  perceived  that  he  had  already 
changed  my  guinea,  and  had  got  a  bottle  of  Madeira  and  a  glass  before 
hun.  I  put  the  cork  into  the  bottle,  desired  he  would  be  calm,  and 
began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  means  by  which  he  might  be  extricated.  He 
then  told  me  that  he  had  a  novel  ready  for  the  press,  which  he  produced 
to  me.  I  looked  into  it  and  saw  its  merit ;  told  the  landlady  I  should 
soon  return ;  and,  having  gone  to  a  bookseller,  sold  it  for  sixty  pounds. 
I  brought  Goldsmith  the  money  and  he  discharged  his  rent,  not  without 
rating  his  landlady  in  a  high  tone  for  having  used  him  so  ill. 

The  novel  lay,  however,  for  some  time  in  the  pub- 
lisher's desk,  but  at  the  close  of  the  year  *  The  Traveller ' 
appeared,  and  quickly  gained  the  admiration  of  the  best 
judges,  and  three  other  editions  were  soon  called  for. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  429 

Goldsmith  dedicated  the  poem  to  his  elder  brother  Henry, 
who  like  his  father  was  a  simple  village  pastor,  and  some 
of  the  sweetest  lines  in  the  poem  are  addressed  to  him. 

Eternal  blessings  crown  my  earliest  friend, 
And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  attend  ; 
Blest  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil  and  trim  their  evening  fire ; 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 
And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair ; 
Blest  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown'd, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fail, 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale  ; 
Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good. 

The  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield '  did  not  appear  till  March 
1766,  so  little  did  the  publisher  value  it,  though  it  is  now 
justly  regarded  as  perhaps  the  purest  and  best  of  the 
literary  creations  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Everyone 
is  familiar  with  the  simple  and  pathetic  story,  but  we 
may  quote  the  description  of  the  simple  feast  with  which 
the  whole  closes. 

I  cannot  say  whether  we  had  more  wit  among  us  now  than  usual, 
but  I  am  certain  we  had  more  laughing,  which  answered  the  end  as 
well.  One  jest  I  particularly  remember:  old  Mr.  Wilmot  drinking  to 
Moses,  whose  head  was  turned  another  way,  my  son  replied,  '  Madam, 
I  thank  you.'  Upon  which  the  old  gentleman,  winking  upon  the  rest 
of  the  company,  observed  that  he  was  thinking  of  his  mistress.  At 
which  jest  I  thought  the  two  Miss  Flamboroughs  would  have  died  with 
laughing. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  according  to  my  old  custom,  I  requested 
that  the  table  might  be  taken  away,  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  all 
my  family  assembled  once  more  by  a  cheerful  fireside.  My  two  little 
ones  sat  upon  each  knee,  the  rest  of  the  company  by  their  partners.  I 
had  nothing  now  on  this  side  of  the  grave  to  wish  for,  all  my  cares  were 


43o        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

over,  my  pleasure  was  unspeakable.  It  now  only  remained  that  my 
gratitude  in  good  fortune  should  exceed  my  former  submission  in 
adversity. 

We  must  hasten  over  the  rest  of  Goldsmith's  life. 
In  1768  he  wrote  the  comedy  of '  The  Good-natured  Man,' 
which  was  a  great  success  and  gained  him  500L  Two 
years  later  he  published  the  best  of  all  his  poems,  '  The 
Deserted  Village,'  with  its  charming  pictures  of  the 
village  pastor,  the  schoolmaster,  the  village  inn,  and  all 
the  scenes  which  lingered  so  fondly  in  his  memory. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs— and  God  has  giv'n  my  share— 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bow'rs  to  lay  me  down  ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose : 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  booklearn'd  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw ; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexation  past, 
Here  to  return  and  die  at  home  at  last. 

His  fame  was  now  well  established,  and  the  book- 
sellers were  glad  to  secure  his  services  to  write  *  The 
History  of  Animated  Nature,'  *  The  Eoman  History,' 
'  The  History  of  England,'  and  other  compilations,  for 
which  they  paid  him  well.  But  Goldsmith  was  careless 
and  generous  and  improvident,  and  he  was  never  free 
from  money  difficulties. 

In  1773  he  wrote  another  comedy,  '  She  Stoops  to 
Conquer,'  the  plot  of  which  is  based  on  an  incident  in  his 


GIBBON  43, 

own  schoolboy  days.  The  manager  of  Covent  Garden 
thought  the  play  would  fail,  but  it  succeeded  admirably, 
and  well  it  might,  with  its  inimitable  Tony  Lumpkin, 
and  honest  old  Diggory,  and  sweet  Kate  Hardcastle. 

Goldsmith  died  early  in  the  following  year,  and  one 
of  his  latest  works  was  the  bright  and  witty  poem  *  Ke- 
taliation,'  in  which  he  sportively  sketched,  but  with  rare 
insight  and  felicity,  the  characters  of  Burke,  and  Garrick, 
and  Eeynolds,  and  other  members  of  Johnson's  famous 
club. 


GIBBON 

EDWARD  GIBBON,  the  historian,  was  also  in  the  circle  of 
famous  men  who  surrounded  Johnson,  but  in  the  pages 
of  Boswell  he  is  in  general  a  silent  figure.  But  he  has 
himself  written  the  story  of  his  life  in  a  narrative  which 
is  strangely  fascinating,  and  which  possesses  the  same 
beauties  and  blemishes  of  style  as  the  '  Decline  and  Fall ' 
itself. 

Truth,  naked,  unblushing  truth,  the  first  virtue  of  more  serious 
history,  must  be  the  sole  recommendation  of  this  personal  narrative. 
The  style  shall  be  simple  and  familiar,  but  style  is  the  image  of  cha- 
racter ;  and  the  habits  of  correct  writing  may  produce,  without  labour 
or  design,  the  appearance  of  art  and  study. 

Gibbon  was  descended  from  an  ancient  Kentish  family, 
but  his  immediate  ancestors  were  prosperous  citizens  of 
London.  His  grandfather  gained  a  large  fortune  in 
Queen  Anne's  reign,  but  in  the  crash  of  the  South  Sea 
Scheme  he  was  stripped  of  nearly  everything.  He  lived 


432      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

however  to  gain  a  second  fortune  not  much  smaller  than 
the  first. 

The  grandson  Edward  was  born  at  Putney  in  1737. 
He  was  a  sickly  child,  and  his  mother  died  when  he  was 
still  young,  but  his  aunt  Catherine  Porter  filled  her  place 
worthily. 

If  there  be  any,  as  I  trust  there  are  some,  who  rejoice  that  I  live,  to 
that  dear  and  excellent  woman  they  must  hold  themselves  indebted. 

While  he  was  a  boy  his  education  was  interrupted 
and  imperfect,  but  his  aunt  was  his  best  teacher, 

and  to  her  kind  lessons  I  ascribe  my  early  and  invincible  love  of  reading, 
which  I  would  not  exchange  for  the  treasures  of  India. 

His  appetite  for  reading  was  truly  enormous,  especially 
for  history.  He  greedily  devoured  translations  of 
Herodotus,  Tacitus,  and  other  ancient  authors,  then 

from  the  ancient  I  leaped  to  the  modern  world ;  many  crude  lumps 
of  Speed,  Rapin,  Mezeray,  Davila,  Machiavel,  Father  Paul,  Bower,  etc., 
I  devoured  like  so  many  novels ;  and  I  swallowed  with  the  same  vora- 
cious appetite  the  description  of  India  and  China,  of  Mexico  and  Peru. 

We  need  hardly  wonder  that  after  such  a  course 

I  arrived  at  Oxford  with  a  stock  of  erudition  that  might  have  puzzled 
a  doctor,  and  a  degree  of  ignorance  of  which  a  school-boy  would  have 
been  ashamed. 

Oxford  did  little  for  him,  and  Gibbon  bears  witness, 
like  Butler  and  Gray,  but  with  a  more  emphatic  voice,  to 
the  deep  slumber  in  which  both  universities  were  then 
buried. 

To  the  university  of  Oxford  I  acknowledge  no  obligation ;  and  she 
will  as  cheerfully  renounce  me  for  a  son,  as  I  am  willing  to  disclaim  her 
for  a  mother.  I  spent  fourteen  months  at  Magdalen  College  ;  they  proved 
the  fourteen  months  the  most  idle  and  unprofitable  of  my  whole  life. 


GIBBON  433 

Gibbon,  left  as  he  was  at  the  university  to  read  and 
think  for  himself,  became  a  Eoman  Catholic  at  the  age 
of  sixteen,  and  this  led  to  his  abrupt  withdrawal  from 
Oxford.  His  father  after  anxious  deliberation  sent  him 
to  Lausanne,  to  the  house  of  a  Calvinist  minister,  and 
there  he  remained  for  five  years  and  was  completely  cured 
of  his  enthusiasm  for  Eomanism. 

At  Lausanne  he  formed  a  warm  and  lasting  friendship 
with  Mr.  Deyverdun,  a  young  Swiss  gentleman  ;  and, 
more  important  still,  he  met  the  beautiful  Susan  Curchod, 
the  daughter  of  a  country  pastor. 

I  saw  and  loved.  I  found  her  learned  without  pedantry,  lively  in 
conversation,  pure  in  sentiment,  and  elegant  in  manners  ;  and  the  first 
sudden  emotion  was  fortified  by  the  habits  and  knowledge  of  a  more 
familiar  acquaintance.  She  permitted  me  to  make  her  two  or  three 
visits  at  her  father's  house.  I  passed  some  happy  days  there  in  the 
mountains  of  Burgundy,  and  her  parents  honourably  encouraged  the 
connection. 

Alas  that  the  course  of  true  love  will  not  run  smooth  ! 
The  elder  Gibbon  would  not  hear  of  such  a  connection. 

After  a  painful  struggle  I  yielded  to  my  fate  ;  I  sighed  as  a  lover,  I 
obeyed  as  a  son.  My  wound  was  insensibly  healed  by  time,  absence, 
and  the  habits  of  a  new  life. 

The  lady  lived  to  become  the  wife  of  Necker,  the 
famous  finance  minister  of  France,  and  in  years  to  come 
she  and  Gibbon  often  met,  no  longer  as  lovers,  but  as 
attached  friends. 

In  1758  he  returned  to  England  and  spent  two  years 
in  a  calm  pursuit  of  learning  at  his  father's  seat  in 
Hampshire.  Then,  for  another  two  years,  he  as  a 
captain  of  militia  marched  and  counter-marched  to 


434       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Devizes  and  Winchester,  and  Southampton  and  Dover 
and  other  places,  gaining  useful  experience  thereby. 

The  captain  of  the  Hampshire  grenadiers  (the  reader  may  smile)  has 
not  been  useless  to  the  historian  of  the  Eoman  empire. 

Early  in  1764  he  started  on  his  travels,  passing 
through  Paris  and  Lausanne  and  Florence,  and  from 
thence  to  Rome. 

It  was  at  Home  on  October  15,  1764,  as  I  sat  musing  amidst  the 
ruins  of  the  Capitol,  while  the  bare-footed  friars  were  singing  vespers 
in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  that  the  idea  of  writing  the  decline  and  fall 
of  the  city  first  started  to  my  mind. 

This  great  life's  work  was  not  however  grappled  with 
at  once.  Various  other  literary  projects  were  taken  up 
after  his  return  to  England,  were  tried,  were  laid  aside, 
while  his  great  project  grew  ever  more  distinct  before 
him,  and  his  preparations  grew  towards  completion. 

At  length,  in  1776,  the  first  volume  appeared,  and  its 
success  was  immediate. 

The  first  impression  was  exhausted  in  a  few  days  ;  a  second  and 
third  edition  were  scarcely  adequate  to  the  demand,  and  the  bookseller's 
property  was  twice  invaded  by  the  pirates  of  Dublin.  My  book  was  on 
every  table  and  almost  on  every  toilette  ;  the  historian  was  crowned  by 
the  taste  or  fashion  of  the  day  ;  nor  was  the  general  voice  disturbed  by 
the  barking  of  any  profane  critic. 

This  first  volume  descends  from  the  age  of  the 
Antonines  to  the  establishment  of  empire  under  Constan- 
tine,  and  it  finishes  with  the  famous  fifteenth  and  six- 
teenth chapters,  in  which  Gibbon  indulges  in  his  grave 
sarcasms  against  the  corruptions  of  Christianity,  if  not 
against  Christianity  itself. 

The  theologian  may  indulge  the  pleasing  task  of  describing  religion 
as  she  descended  from  heaven,  arrayed  in  her  native  purity.  A  more 


GIBBON  435 

melancholy  duty  is  imposed  on  the  historian.  He  must  discover  the 
inevitable  mixture  of  error  and  corruption,  which  she  contracted  in  a 
long  residence  upon  earth,  among  a  weak  and  degenerate  race  of  beings. 

Two  more  volumes  were  published  in  1781,  and  the 
three  brought  the  story  down,  in  thirty-eight  chapters,  to 
the  Fall  of  Borne  before  the  Goths  and  Vandals,  the  con- 
version of  the  Barbarians,  and  the  establishment  of  the 
French  monarchy  under  Clovis. 

The  work  thus  far  is  a  splendid  panorama.  Countries 
and  nations,  towns  and  buildings,  philosophers  and 
warriors,  are  sketched  with  a  masterly  hand,  and  with 
such  fulness  of  learning  that  later  researches  have 
found  little  to  add,  and  still  less  to  alter.  As  instances 
of  beautiful  description  may  be  mentioned  that  of  Con- 
stantinople in  chapter  xvii.,  the  character  of  Julian  the 
Apostate  in  chapter  xxiii.,  and  the  Pastoral  Nations  in 
chapter  xxvi. 

Two  years  later  Gibbon  resolved  to  make  Lausanne 
once  more  his  home.  He  had  been  for  some  years  a 
member  of  parliament,  and  held  an  office  in  the  Board 
of  Trade  which  entailed  the  very  lightest  of  duties,  and 
brought  him  a  very  comfortable  salary.  But  in  1783 
Lord  North  fell,  and  all  these  comfortable  arrangements 
ceased.  Gibbon's  old  friend  Deyverdun  gladly  united  with 
him  in  taking  a  house  in  Lausanne  overlooking  the  lake. 

In  this  pleasant  retreat,  where  day  followed  day  in 
calm  enjoyment,  the  final  three  volumes  of  the  history 
were  written,  in  which  volumes  are  traced  the  age  of 
Justinian,  with  the  campaigns  of  Belisarius,  the  rise 
and  progress  of  Mahomet,  the  invasions  of  the  Turks, 
the  Crusades,  and  many  other  subjects  of  interest. 

F  P  2 


436       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Chapter  1.  with  its  description  of  Arabia  and  Mahomet, 
and  chapter  Iviii.,  the  history  of  the  First  Crusade,  may 
be  instanced  as  examples  of  beautiful  writing.  The  final 
chapters  are  devoted  to  a  description  of  the  state  of  the 
city  of  Eome  in  the  period  from  the  twelfth  to  the  fifteenth 
century. 

Gibbon  thus  beautifully  describes  the  closing  of  his 
great  labour  :— 

It  was  on  the  day,  or  rather  night,  of  June  27,  1787,  between  the 
hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  that  I  wrote  the  last  lines  of  the  last  page 
in  a  summer-house  in  my  garden.  After  laying  down  my  pen,  I  took 
several  turns  in  a  berceau,  or  covered  walk  of  acacias,  which  commands 
a  prospect  of  the  country,  the  lake,  and  the  mountains.  The  air  was 
temperate,  the  sky  was  serene,  the  silver  orb  of  the  moon  was  reflected 
from  the  waters,  and  all  nature  was  silent.  I  will  not  dissemble  the 
first  emotions  of  joy  on  the  recovery  of  my  freedom,  and,  perhaps,  the 
establishment  of  my  fame.  But  my  pride  was  soon  humbled,  and  a  sober 
melancholy  was  spread  over  my  mind  by  the  idea  that  I  had  taken  an 
everlasting  leave  of  an  old  and  agreeable  companion ;  and  that,  whatever 
might  be  the  future  date  of  my  History,  the  life  of  the  historian  must 
be  short  and  precarious. 

We  have  only  room  to  add  that  Gibbon  died  in  England 
in  1794  after  a  short  illness. 


WILLIAM  COWPER 

DURING  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  the 
spell  which  Pope  had  cast  over  English  poetry  began 
gradually  to  break.  Instead  of  brilliant  satires  and  de- 
scriptions of  man  in  an  artificial  state  of  society,  Gray  and 
Goldsmith  gave  exquisite  little  pictures  of  nature,  and  of 
men  living  under  simpler  conditions  of  life.  Finally 
Cowper,  with  still  simpler  language  and  still  truer  pictures 


WILLIAM  COWPER 


437 


of  nature,  prepared  the  way  for  Wordsworth  and   his 
fellows. 

Cowper  was  born  in  1731  in  the  rectory  of  Berkhamp- 
stead.  He  was  of  good  family,  for  his  grand-uncle  was 
a  Lord  Chancellor,  and  his  mother  was  descended  from 
Henry  III.  Unhappily  for  him  she  died  when  he  was 
six  years  old,  and  some  of  his  finest  verses  in  later  years 
are  those  he  wrote  on  seeing  her  portrait. 

Could  Time,  his  flight  revers'd,  restore  the  hours, 

When,  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissu'd  flow'rs, 

The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 

I  prick 'd  them  into  paper  with  a  pin 

(And  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while, 

Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile), 

Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear, 

Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  them  here  ? 

I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 

Seems  so  to  be  desir'd,  perhaps  I  might. — 

But  no,  what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such, 

So  little  to  be  lov'd,  and  thou  so  much, 

That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 

Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

The  little  lad  was  sent  away  to  a  boarding  school,  and 
was  very  miserable  there ;  but  a  little  later  he  went  to 
Westminster  School,  and  spent  a  pleasant  time,  gaining 
friends  and  excelling  in  cricket  and  football.  Warren 
Hastings  was  one  of  his  friends  and  schoolfellows. 

At  eighteen  he  was  articled  to  an  attorney,  and  had 
Thurlow,  the  future  Lord  Chancellor,  for  a  fellow  clerk ;  but 
he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the  society  of  his  cousins 
Theodora  and  Harriet, '  giggling  and  making  giggle  '  from 
morning  till  night.  He  fell  in  love  with  Theodora  and 
she  with  him,  but  her  father  refused  his  consent  to  a 


438       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

union,  and  the  lovers  remained  single  all  their  lives. 
Harriet  became  Lady  Hesketh,  and  was  in  later  years 
one  of  Cowper's  most  constant  correspondents. 

When  Cowper  was  twenty-one  he  took  chambers  in 
the  Temple  and  was  called  to  the  Bar,  but  gave  himself 
up  to  literature,  writing  verses,  papers  for  the  *  Con- 
noisseur,' and  other  light  effusions.  He  was  a  member 
of  the '  Nonsense  Club,'  and  Lloyd,  Colman,  and  Churchill 
and  other  wits  and  poets  were  his  friends  and  com- 
panions. 

He  passed  a  number  of  years  in  this  frivolous  though 
innocent  course  of  life,  till  in  1763  the  great  crash  of  his 
intellect  came,  brought  on,  it  would  seem,  by  religious 
mania  combined  with  the  dread  of  an  approaching  ex- 
amination for  the  post  of  Clerk  of  the  Journals  to  the 
House  of  Lords.  In  a  letter  to  Lady  Hesketh  he  says  :— 

0  !  my  good  cousin  !  if  I  was  to  open  my  heart  to  you  I  could  show 
you  strange  sights ;  nothing,  I  flatter  myself,  that  would  shock  you,  but 
a  great  deal  that  would  make  you  wonder.  I  am  of  a  very  singular 
temper,  and  very  unlike  all  the  men  that  I  have  ever  conversed  with. 
Certainly  I  am  not  an  absolute  fool,  but  I  have  more  weakness  than  the 
greatest  of  all  the  fools  I  can  recollect  at  present.  In  short,  if  I  was  as 
fit  for  the  next  world  as  I  am  unfit  for  this  (and  God  forbid  I  should 
speak  it  in  vanity !)  I  would  not  change  conditions  with  any  Saint  in 
Christendom. 

In  his  madness  he  was  on  the  point  of  killing  himself, 
and  his  friends  placed  him  in  a  private  asylum  at  St. 
Albans.  There  he  was  kindly  and  skilfully  treated,  and 
in  about  eighteen  months  he  was  restored  to  reason,  but 
looked  back  with  horror  on  his  former  thoughtless  life. 

By  the  care  of  his  friends  he  was  placed  in  lodgings 
in  Huntingdon,  and  soon  made  himself  comfortable  there. 
Within  three  months  of  going  there  he  writes  : — 


WILLIAM   COWPER  43$ 

The  longer  I  live  here,  the  better  I  like  the  place  and  the  people  who 
belong  to  it.  I  am  upon  very  good  terms  with  no  less  than  five  families, 
besides  two  or  three  odd  scrambling  fellows  like  myself.  The  last  ac- 
quaintance I  made  here  is  with  the  race  of  the  Unwins,  consisting  of 
father  and  mother,  son  and  daughter,  the  most  comfortable  social  folks 
you  ever  knew.  The  father  is  a  clergyman,  and  the  son  is  designed  for 
orders.  The  design,  however,  is  quite  his  own,  proceeding  merely  from 
his  being  and  having  always  been  sincere  in  his  belief  and  love  of  the 
Gospel. 

Cowper  soon  became  an  inmate  of  their  house,  and 
the  friendship  lasted  for  life.  Mrs.  Unwin,  though  only 
seven  years  his  senior,  watched  over  him  with  the  tender- 
ness and  care  of  a  mother.  One  of  Cowper's  latest 
poems  is  addressed  to  her  when  she  was  enfeebled  with 
sickness. 

The  twentieth  year  is  well-nigh  past, 
Since  first  our  sky  was  overcast ; 
Ah,  would  that  this  might  be  the  last ! 
My  Mary ! 

Thy  spirits  have  a  fainter  flow, 
I  see  thee  daily  weaker  grow  ; 
'Twas  my  distress  that  brought  thee  low, 
My  Mary  1 

Thy  silver  locks,  once  auburn  bright, 
Are  still  more  lovely  in  my  sight 
Than  golden  beams  of  orient  light, 
My  Mary  1 

Partakers  of  thy  sad  decline, 
Thy  hands  their  little  force  resign, 
Yet,  gently  prest,  press  gently  mine, 
My  Mary ! 

The  home  at  Huntingdon  was  broken  up  in  1768  by 
the  sudden  death  of  Mr.  Unwin,  and  the  family  moved  to 
Olney,  a  sleepy  little  town  on  the  Ouse  in  Buckingham- 
shire. The  curate  of  Olney  was  the  Eev.  John  Newton 


440        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

a  famed  Evangelical  preacher  of  that  day,  and  Cowper 
became  warmly  attached  to  him,  and  wrote  in  conjunction 
with  him  the  *  Olney  Hymns,'  several  of  which  are  still 
very  popular. 

But  Newton's  influence  on  Cowper  was  too  exciting, 
and  in  1773  his  madness  returned  for  a  time  Fortu- 
nately Mr.  Newton  was  called  to  a  change  in  London,  and 
Mrs.  Unwin  persuaded  Cowper  to  give  some  attention  to 
general  literature,  and  to  try  his  hand  at  poetry  again. 
The  result  was  a  little  volume  of  poems  published  in  1781 
with  the  title  of  *  Moral  Satires.'  The  poems  are  of  no 
great  merit,  and  they  lack  the  vivid  picturesque  force 
which  Cowper  afterwards  showed  in  the  *  Task.'  In  the 
following  lines  from  the  first  of  the  '  Satires,'  Cowper  de- 
scribes with  nice  discrimination  the  great  writers  of  Queen 
Anne's  reign. 

In  front  of  these  came  Addison.     In  him 

Humour  in  holiday  and  sightly  trim, 

Sublimity  and  Attic  taste  combined 

To  polish,  furnish,  and  delight  the  mind. 

Then  Pope,  as  harmony  itself  exact, 

In  verse  well  disciplined,  complete,  compact,      ^ 

Gave  virtue  and  morality  a  grace,  % . 

That,  quite  eclipsing  pleasure's  painted  face, 

Levied  a  tax  of  wonder  and  applause, 

Even  on  the  fools  that  trampled  on  their  laws. 

But  he  (his  musical  finesse  was  such, 

So  nice  his  ear,  so  delicate  his  touch) 

Made  poetry  a  mere  mechanic  art, 

And  every  warbler  had  his  tune  by  heart. 

Nature  imparting  her  satiric  gift, 

Her  serious  mirth  to  Arbuthnot  and  Swift ; 

With  droll  sobriety  they  raised  a  smile 

At  folly's  cost,  themselves  unmoved  the  while. 

That  constellation  set,  the  world  in  vain 

Must  hope  to  look  upon  their  like  again. 


WILLIAM  COWPER  44* 

In  1781  Cowper  gained  a  new  friend  in  Lady  Austen, 
a  baronet's  widow  who  came  to  live  in  the  parsonage  in 
Olney.  Both  Cowper  and  Mrs.  Unwin  were  charmed 
with  her  conversation,  and  it  became  a  custom  with  the 
friends  *  to  dine  always  together  alternately  in  the  houses 
of  the  two  ladies.'  In  several  of  Cowper's  playful  poems 
she  is  spoken  of  as  '  Sister  Anne.' 

Lady  Austen's  conversation  had  as  happy  an  effect  upon  the  melan- 
choly spirit  of  Cowper  as  the  harp  of  David  upon  Saul.  Whenever 
the  cloud  seemed  to  be  coming  over  him,  her  sprightly  powers  were 
exerted  to  dispel  it.  One  afternoon,  when  he  appeared  more  than  usually 
depressed,  she  told  him  the  story  of  John  Gilpin,  which  had  been  told  to 
her  in  her  childhood,  and  which,  in  her  relation,  tickled  his  fancy  as 
much  as  it  has  that  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  since  in  his.  The 
next  morning  he  said  to  her  that  he  had  been  kept  awake  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  night  by  thinking  of  the  story  and  laughing  at  it ; 
and  that  he  had  turned  it  into  a  ballad.1 

To  Lady  Austen's  inspiration  we  owe  the  '  Task.'  She 
urged  him  to  write  a  poem  in  blank  verse,  and  when  he 
asked  for  a  subject,  she  answered,  'Oh,  you  can  never  be 
in  want  of  a  subject;  you  can  write  upon  any;  write 
upon  this  sofa ! '  Cowper  alludes  to  this  in  the  opening 
lines  ofrthe  poem  : 

I  sing  the  Sofa.     I  who  lately  sang 

Truth,  Hope,  and  Charity,  and  touch 'd  with  awe 

The  solemn  chords,  and,  with  a  trembling  hand, 

Escaped  with  pain  from  that  adventurous  flight, 

Now  seek  repose  upon  an  humbler  theme  ; 

The  theme  though  humble,  yet  august  and  proud 

The  occasion,  for  the  Fair  commands  the  song. 

The  '  Task '  is  in  six  books,  and  a  great  variety  of 
subjects  is  dealt  with,  and  the  connection  between  them 
is  often  very  slight.  But  there  are  passages  of  much 
beauty  in  all  of  them,  and  the  work  became  popular,  as  it 

1  Southey. 


442       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

deserved.     In  the  first  book  there  is  a  fine  passage  de- 
scribing the  beauty  of  sounds  in  nature  : 

Not  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  nature.     Mighty  winds 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind ; 
Unnumber'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 

In  the  second  book  there  are  the  indignant  lines  on 
slavery,  but  the  fourth  book,  *  The  Winter  Evening/  is 
perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all.  There  is  in  it  a  succes- 
sion of  delightful  pictures  :  the  postman  laden  with  news, 
the  waggoner  toiling  through  the  snow,  the  cosy  circle 
round  the  tea-table,  and  the  fine  apostrophe  to  winter  : 

Oh  Winter  !  ruler  of  the  inverted  year, 

Thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  fill'd ; 

Thy  breath  congeal'd  upon  thy  lips  ;  thy  cheeks 

Fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 

Than  those  of  age  ;  thy  forehead  wrapt  in  clouds  ; 

A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre  ;  and  thy  throne 

A  sliding  car  indebted  to  no  wheels, 

But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slippery  way ; 

I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st, 

And  dreaded  as  thou  art. 

The  'Task'  was  published  in  1785,  and  the  next  year 
Lady  Hesketh  paid  him  a  visit.  The  cousins  had  not 
met  for  many  years,  and  he  writes  to  her : 

My  dear,  I  will  not  let  you  come  till  the  end  of  May  or  the  beginning 
of  June,  because,  before  that  time,  my  greenhouse  will  not  be  ready  to 
receive  us,  and  it  is  the  only  pleasant  room  belonging  to  us.  When  the 
plants  go  out,  we  go  in.  I  line  it  with  mats,  and  spread  the  floor  with 
mats ;  and  there  you  shall  sit,  with  a  bed  of  mignonnette  at  your  side, 


BURKE  AND   THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION    443 

and  a  hedge  of  honeysuckles,  roses,  and  jasmine ;  and  I  will  make  you 
a  bouquet  of  myrtle  every  day. 

One  result  of  Lady  Hesketh's  visit  was  their  removal 
from  Olney  to  a  house  at  Weston,  not  far  removed,  but  in 
a  much  healthier  situation.  Here  he  wrote  a  number  of 
his  minor  poems,  and  completed  his  translation  of  Homer 
which  he  had  begun  as  early  as  1784.  But  none  of 
these  works  added  materially  to  his  fame,  which  rests  now 
upon  the  'Task,'  '  John  Gilpin,'  and  his  charming  letters. 

Mrs.  Unwin's  health  now  began  to  fail  rapidly,  and 
in  1796  she  died.  Cowper  lived  a  weary  three  or  four 
years  after  her,  and  died  in  April  1800. 


BURKE  AND  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

THE  French  Revolution  in  its  early  stages  of  progress 
was  hailed  with  delight  by  many  pure  and  ardent  young 
minds  in  England. 

Bliss  was  it  in  that  dawn  to  be  alive, 
But  to  be  young  was  very  heaven  ! 

So  sang  the  poet  Wordsworth,  and  to  him  and 
Coleridge  and  others  the  fall  of  the  Bastille  and  the  up- 
rising of  the  French  people  seemed  signs  of  the  dawning 
of  a  glorious  day  of  liberty  and  brotherhood. 

But  to  Edmund  Burke  this  uprising  appeared  a 
horrible  desecration  of  liberty  and  a  reckless  casting 
away  of  all  the  wisdom  of  bygone  times.  With  the  eye 
of  a  prophet  he  foresaw  from  the  beginning  the  course  of 
excess  and  cruelty  which  the  Revolution  was  to  take,  and 
he  whose  earlier  years  had  been  spent  in  pleading  for 


444       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

conciliation  with  America,  and  for  justice  to  the  op- 
pressed people  of  India,  spent  his  later  ones  in  fiercely 
denouncing  any  intercourse  with  the  blood-stained 
rulers  of  France. 

Burke  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1729,  and  spent  the 
years  from  1743  to  1748  in  Dublin  University,  having 
Goldsmith  for  a  fellow -collegian,  though  at  that  time 
there  was  no  intercourse  between  the  two  friends  of 
later  years. 

In  1750  he  came  to  London  to  study  the  law,  but 
gave  himself  more  to  literature,  and  but  little  is  known 
of  his  course  of  life.  In  1756  his  first  two  works  were 
published,  '  A  Vindication  of  Natural  Society,'  and  '  A 
Philosophical  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  on  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful.'  The  former  of  these  works  is 
in  the  manner  of  Lord  Bolingbroke,  and  some  of  the  best 
judges  thought  it  to  be  really  a  work  of  his.  To  the 
last  Burke  retained  many  traces  of  Bolingbroke's  in- 
fluence. There  is  in  both  the  same  nobility  of  language, 
and  grace  and  ease  of  movement,  but  Burke  has  more 
fire  and  passion.  Boswell  speaks  happily  of  Burke 
'  winding  into  a  subject  like  a  serpent,'  and  the  same 
might  be  truly  said  of  Bolingbroke. 

A  few  years  later  Burke  became  the  chief  writer  in 
the  '  Annual  Register,'  and  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
great  political  leaders,  and  in  1765  he  was  chosen  as 
private  secretary  by  Lord  Eockingham,  the  youthful 
prime  minister.  In  later  years,  when  Burke  was  old  and 
weary,  and  alienated  from  his  party,  he  looked  back  with 
pleasure  upon  this  beginning  of  his  public  life. 

From  this  time,  1765  till  1794,  he  sat  in  Parliament, 


BURKE  AND   THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION    445 

generally  as  member  for  some  pocket  borough ;  but  from 
1774  till  1780  he  represented  the  important  City  of 
Bristol.  From  the  outset  he  refused  to  submit  his 
judgment  of  what  was  just  and  politic  to  the  wishes 
or  commands  of  his  constituents,  and  as  his  actions  in 
regard  to  American  and  Irish  affairs  did  not  meet  with 
approval,  he  bade  them  farewell  in  1780,  in  a  speech 
which  makes  pathetic  reference  to  the  sudden  death  of 
one  of  the  candidates  on  the  preceding  day. 

Gentlemen,  the  melancholy  event  of  yesterday  reads  to  us  an  awful 
lesson  against  being  too  much  troubled  about  any  of  the  objects  of 
ordinary  ambition.  The  worthy  gentleman,  who  has  been  snatched 
from  us  at  the  moment  of  the  election,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  contest, 
whilst  his  desires  were  as  warm,  and  his  hopes  as  eager,  as  ours,  has 
feelingly  told  us  what  shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue. 

Burke  remained  the  intimate  and  attached  friend  of 
Johnson  and  Goldsmith,  and  Garrick  and  Keynolds,  and 
they  were  proud  of  his  triumphs.  When  he  first  entered 
Parliament  Johnson  said,  'Now  we  who  know  Burke 
know  that  he  will  be  one  of  the  first  men  in  the  country.' 
He  was  one  of  the  earliest  and  warmest  admirers  of  '  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  and  he  was  one  of  those  who  sat 
weeping  by  the  death-bed  of  Johnson. 

One  of  Burke's  finest  speeches  in  Parliament  was 
that  on  '  Conciliation  with  America/  delivered  in  1775. 
In  the  following  passage  he  is  showing  how  great  is  the 
folly  of  ministers  in  expecting  the  same  degree  of  obedi- 
ence in  distant  colonies  as  that  which  is  rightly  exacted 
at  home. 

Three  thousand  miles  of  ocean  lie  between  you  and  them.  No  con- 
trivance can  prevent  the  effect  of  this  distance  in  weakening  government. 
Seas  roll,  and  months  pass,  between  the  order  and  the  execution ;  and 


446       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  want  of  a  speedy  explanation  of  a  single  point  is  enough  to  defeat  a 
whole  system.  You  have  indeed  winged  ministers  of  vengeance,  who 
carry  your  bolts  in  their  pounces  to  the  remotest  verge  of  the  sea.  But 
there  a  power  steps  in,  that  limits  the  arrogance  of  raging  passions  and 
furious  elements,  and  says,  '  So  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther.'  Who 
are  you  that  should  fret  and  rage  and  bite .  the  chains  of  nature  ? 
Nothing  worse  happens  to  you  than  does  to  all  nations  who  have  extensive 
empire ;  and  it  happens  in  all  the  forms  into  which  empire  can  be 
thrown.  In  large  bodies  the  circulation  of  power  must  be  less  vigorous 
at  the  extremities.  Nature  has  said  it.  The  Turk  cannot  govern  Egypt, 
and  Arabia,  and  Curdistan,  as  he  governs  Thrace ;  nor  has  he  the  same 
dominion  in  Crimea  and  Algiers  which  he  has  at  Brusa  and  Smyrna. 
Despotism  itself  is  obliged  to  truck  and  huckster.  The  Sultan  gets  such 
obedience  as  he  can.  He  governs  with  a  loose  rein  that  he  may  govern 
at  all,  and  the  whole  of  the  force  and  vigour  of  his  authority  in  his 
centre  is  derived  from  a  prudent  relaxation  in  all  his  borders.  Spain, 
in  her  provinces,  is,  perhaps,  not  so  well  obeyed  as  you  are  in  yours. 
She  complies  too,  she  submits,  she  watches  times.  This  is  the  im- 
mutable condition,  the  eternal  law,  of  extensive  and  detached  empire. 

There  is  a  whole  series  of  Burke's  speeches  on  the 
affairs  of  India,  and  he  burnt  with  indignation  at  the 
tales  of  wrong-doing  and  oppression  which  reached  him. 
In  1783,  in  a  speech  on  Fox's  East  India  Bill,  he  says  : 

The  natives  scarcely  know  what  it  is  to  see  the  grey  head  of  an 
Englishman.  Young  men  (boys  almost)  govern  there,  without  society, 
and  without  sympathy  with  the  natives.  Animated  with  all  the  avarice 
of  age,  and  all  the  impetuosity  of  youth,  they  roll  in  one  after  another, 
wave  after  wave,  and  there  is  nothing  before  the  eyes  of  the  natives  but 
an  endless,  hopeless  prospect  of  new  flights  of  birds  of  prey  and  passage, 
with  appetites  continually  renewing  for  a  food  that  is  continually 
wasting.  Every  rupee  of  profit  made  by  an  Englishman  is  lost  for  ever 
to  India.  Their  prey  is  lodged  in  England  ;  and  the  cries  of  India  are 
given  to  seas  and  winds,  to  be  blown  about  in  every  breaking  up  of  the 
monsoon  over  a  remote  and  unhearing  ocean. 

Burke's  speeches  on  Indian  affairs  culminated  in  the 
famous  impeachment  and  trial  of  Warren  Hastings.  In 
February  1788  the  great  trial  began,  and  Burke's 


BURKE  AND    THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION    447 

opening  speech  was  one  of  overpowering  eloquence. 
Ladies  were  carried  out  fainting,  and  Hastings  himself 
felt  for  the  time  that  he  was  one  of  the  greatest  criminals 
living.  In  1794  the  trial  ended,  and  with  it  the  public 
life  of  Burke  also  closed. 

In  the  meantime,  the  great  shock  of  the  French 
Kevolution  had  come.  Burke  had  visited  France  in 
1773,  and  had  seen  there  were  forces  at  work  in  that 
country  which  threatened  to  destroy  all  loyalty  and 
religion.  The  events  of  1789  seemed  to  Fox  and  other 
statesmen  to  promise  an  era  of  reasonable  liberty,  but 
to  Burke  they  appeared  as  they  really  were,  the  har- 
bingers of  anarchy  and  tyranny. 

He  set  himself  to  compose  the  most  famous  of  all 
his  works,  the  '  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France/ 
It  was  finished  in  November  1790,  and  eleven  editions 
were  issued  before  a  year  was  past.  It  roused  the 
English  people  as  few  writings  have  done  either  before 
or  since ;  and,  as  succeeding  events  showed  that  Burke's 
forebodings  were  true,  the  national  feeling  grew  more 
intense ;  and  when  news  came,  in  January  1793,  of  the 
execution  of  King  Louis,  the  prime  minister,  Pitt,  was 
forced  against  his  will  to  declare  war. 

The  '  Reflections '  is  a  work  abounding  in  passages  of 
splendid  eloquence,  and  we  must  find  room  for  a  few  of 
them. 

In  the  following,  Burke  laments  the  loosening  of  the 
bonds  of  religion  in  France  : 

All  other  nations  have  begun  the  fabric  of  a  new  government,  or  the 
reformation  of  an  old,  by  establishing  originally,  or  by  enforcing  with 
greater  exactness,  some  rites  or  other  of  religion.  All  other  people  have 


448       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

laid  the  foundations  of  civil  freedom  in  severer  manners,  and  a  system 
of  a  more  austere  and  masculine  morality.  France,  when  she  let  loose 
the  reins  of  regal  authority,  doubled  the  licence  of  a  ferocious  dissolute- 
ness in  manners,  and  of  an  insolent  irreligion  in  opinions  and  practices ; 
and  has  extended  through  all  ranks  of  life,  as  if  she  were  communicating 
some  privilege,  or  laying  open  some  secluded  benefit,  all  the  unhappy 
corruptions  that  usually  were  the  disease  of  wealth  and  power. 

The  revolt  of  the  French  was  unnatural,  as  they  had 
risen,  not  against  a  tyrant,  but  against  a  gentle-hearted 
king. 

They  have  seen  the  French  rebel  against  a  mild  and  lawful  monarch 
with  more  fury,  outrage,  and  insult  than  ever  any  people  has  been 
known  to  rise  against  the  most  illegal  usurper,  or  the  most  sanguinary 
tyrant.  Their  resistance  was  made  to  concession ;  their  revolt  was  from 
protection ;  their  blow  was  aimed  at  a  hand  holding  out  graces,  favours, 
and  immunities. 

Then,  in  the  finest  passage  of  all,  Burke  calls  up  the 
memories  of  his  visit  to  France  in  1773  : 

It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of  France, 
then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles ;  and  surely  never  lighted  on  this  orb, 
which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more  delightful  vision.  I  saw  her 
just  above  the  horizon,  decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she 
just  began  to  move  in,  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life  and 
splendour  and  joy.  Oh  1  what  a  revolution  !  and  what  a  heart  must  I 
have  to  contemplate  without  emotion  that  elevation  and  that  fall  I 
Little  did  I  dream,  when  she  added  titles  of  veneration  to  those  of  en- 
thusiastic, distant,  respectful  love,  that  she  should  ever  be  obliged  to 
carry  the  sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed  in  that  bosom ;  little 
did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such  disasters  fallen  upon 
her  in  a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honour  and  of 
cavaliers.  I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have  leaped  from  their 
scabbards  to  avenge  even  a  look  that  threatened  her  with  insult.  But 
the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophisters,  economists,  and  calcu- 
lators has  succeeded  ;  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is  extinguished  for  ever. 
Never,  never  more  shall  we  behold  that  generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex, 
that  proud  submission,  that  dignified  obedience,  that  subordination  of 
the  heart,  which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itself,  the  spirit  of  an 


ROBERT  BURNS  449 

exalted  freedom.  The  unbought  grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defence  of 
nations,  the  nurse  of  manly  sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise  is  gone  ! 
It  is  gone,  that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honour,  which 
felt  a  stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired  courage  whilst  it  mitigated 
ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it  touched,  and  under  which,  vice  itself 
lost  half  its  evil,  by  losing  all  its  grossness. 

We  have  space  for  a  few  words  only  on  the  remaining 
incidents  of  Burke's  life.  In  1794  he  resigned  his  seat 
in  Parliament,  and  it  was  proposed  to  make  him  a  peer  ; 
but  his  only  son  died  in  August,  and  the  king  then 
granted  him  instead,  a  pension  of  between  two  and 
three  thousand  pounds. 

The  giving  of  the  pension  was  attacked  in  the  House 
of  Lords  by  the  Duke  of  Bedford  and  the  Earl  of 
Lauderdale,  and  this  led  to  one  of  the  most  vigorous 
and  effective  retorts  ever  written,  '  A  Letter  to  a  Noble 
Lord.' 

Burke's  last  writings  were  the  famous  three  '  Letters 
on  the  Proposals  for  Peace  with  the  Eegicide  Directory 
of  France.'  The  first  two  were  published  in  1796,  the 
third  in  1797,  after  Burke's  death  in  July  of  that  year. 


ROBERT   BURNS 

FEOM  the  days  of  Dunbar  and  Lyndsay  in  the  sixteenth 
century  the  poetical  genius  of  Scotland  took  a  long  sleep 
until  it  woke  once  more  in  the  life  and  work  of  Burns. 
Indeed,  for  a  long  time  after  the  Union,  there  was  no 
Scottish  literature  worthy  of  mention.  During  the 
eighteenth  century  Scotland  produced  a  number  of 

OK* 


450       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

famous  writers :  Thomson,  the  author  of  '  The  Seasons ; ' 
Smollett,  the  novelist ;  Robertson,  the  historian  ;  Hume, 
the  philosopher  and  historian ;  and  Adam  Smith,  the 
author  of  *  The  Wealth  of  Nations.'  But  their  works 
are  in  no  true  sense  national,  and  show  no  trace  of  the 
intense  patriotism  which  is  continually  breaking  forth 
in  Burns'  poems. 

Burns  was  born  in  January  1759,  in  a  humble  clay- 
built  cottage,  near  the  town  of  Ayr.  His  father  was 
a  small  farmer,  and  a  most  worthy  man,  but  all  his  life 
through  he  had  a  sore  struggle  with  poverty  and  mis- 
fortune. Burns  himself  tells  us  : 

My  father's  farm  proved  a  ruinous  bargain  ;  and,  to  clench  the  mis- 
fortune, we  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  factor,  who  sat  for  the  picture  I  have 
drawn  of  one  in  my  tale  of '  Twa  Dogs.'  My  indignation  yet  boils  at  the 
recollection  of  the  scoundrel  factor's  insolent,  threatening  letters  which 
used  to  set  us  all  in  tears. 

The  boy's  opportunities  for  learning  were  very  scanty ; 
but  he  was  an  apt  pupil,  and  he  was  keenly  susceptible 
to  influences  from  every  quarter.  He  tells  us  : 

The  two  first  books  I  ever  read  in  private  were  '  The  Life  of 
Hannibal '  and  4  The  History  of  Sir  William  Wallace.'  Hannibal  gave 
my  young  ideas  such  a  turn  that  I  used  to  strut  in  raptures  up  and 
down  after  the  recruiting  drum  and  bagpipe,  and  wish  myself  tall 
enough  to  be  a  soldier  ;  while  the  story  of  Wallace  poured  a  tide  of 
Scottish  prejudice  into  my  veins  which  will  boil  along  there  till  the 
flood-gates  of  death  shall  shut  in  eternal  rest. 

The  father's  poverty  rendered  it  needful  that  the 
children  should  early  be  set  to  labour,  and  at  thirteen 
Eobert  assisted  in  the  thrashing,  and  at  fifteen  he  was 
the  chief  labourer  on  the  farm.  These  severe  exertions 
overtaxed  his  strength  and  probably  planted  the  seeds 
of  ailments  which  shortened  his  life. 


ROBERT  BURNS  451 

But  the  years  spent  in  his  father's  humble  cottage 
were  among  the  happiest  of  his  life,  and  he  has  drawn 
a  beautiful  picture  of  the  peace  and  innocence  of  these 
early  years  in  his  poem  of  'The  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night.' 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  \vi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide  ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  with  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  Ha' -Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride  ; 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearin'  thin  and  bare ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 
And  « Let  us  worship  God  ! '  he  says  with  solemn  air. 

Burns'  earliest  poem  is  a  little  song  composed  in 
honour  of  his  companion,  Nellie  Fitzpatrick,  who, worked 
with  him  in  the  harvest  field.  The  song  is  of  little  merit, 
but  a  few  of  the  stanzas  such  as  the  following  give  tokens 
of  the  poet's  future  powers  : 

A  gaudy  dress  and  gentle  air 

May  slightly  touch  the  heart ; 
But  it's  innocence  and  modesty 

That  polishes  the  dart. 

At  the  age  of  nineteen  Burns  was  living  away  from 
home  at  Irvine  on  the  coast  of  Ayr,  and  unhappily  he 
here  began  to  give  way  to  dissipation,  and  one  of  his 
letters  to  his  father  expresses  a  weariness  of  life  which 
is  intensely  saddening. 

In  1784  his  father  died,  and  Eobert  and  his  brother 
Gilbert  took  the  farm  of  Mossgiel,  near  the  village  of 
Mauchline,  and  here  during  the  next  few  years  he  wrote 
the  most  famous  of  his  poems.  Among  them  are  the 

Q  o  2 


452       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

stinging  satires  on  the  bigoted  intolerant  clergy  of  the 
'  Auld  Light'  party,  such  poems  as  the  'Holy  Fair,' 
the  '  Twa  Herds,'  '  Holy  Willie's  Prayer,'  and  others. 
They  abound  in  vigorous  passages  of  description,  and  in 
bursts  of  merriment  which  set  the  country  in  a  roar. 

The  *  Address  to  the  Deil '  and  '  Death  and  Doctor 
Hornbook '  are  filled  with  grim  humour,  and  '  The  Jolly 
Beggars '  with  its  tumultuous  merriment  is  by  some 
regarded  as  Burns'  masterpiece.  Some  of  his  slighter 
poems  have  all  the  sweetness  and  fidelity  to  nature  of 
Wordsworth.  Such  is  the  address  '  To  a  Mountain 
Daisy.' 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Thou'st  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem  ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  pow'r, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 
There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  ! 

Meanwhile  the  farm  did  not  prosper,  and  troubles  of 
various  kinds  beset  Burns,  and  in  1786  he  resolved  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  the  West  Indies.  To  raise  money  for 
the  passage  he  was  persuaded  to  gather  and  publish  his 
poems,  and  a  tiny  volume  was  issued  from  the  press  in 
Kilmarnock.  The  poems  were  received  with  great 
enthusiasm,  and  Burns  soon  abandoned  the  idea  of 
going  abroad,  and  went  to  Edinburgh  to  superintend  the 
issue  of  a  second  edition. 


ROBERT  BURNS  453 

From  November  1786  to  March  1787  he  remained  in 
Edinburgh,  and  was  for  the  time  the  lion  of  that  literary 
capital.  There  are  many  memorials  of  his  visit,  but  the 
most  interesting  is  that  written  by  Sir  Walter  Scott : 

As  for  Burns,  I  may  truly  say,  Virgilium  vidi  tantum.  I  was  a  lad 
of  fifteen  in  1786-7,  when  he  came  first  to  Edinburgh,  but  had  sense 
and  feeling  enough  to  be  much  interested  in  his  poetry,  and  would  have 
given  the  world  to  know  him. 

I  saw  him  one  day  at  the  late  venerable  Professor  Fergusson's,  where 
there  were  several  gentlemen  of  literary  reputation,  among  whom  I 
remember  the  celebrated  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart.  Of  course  we  youngsters 
sate  silent,  looked,  and  listened.  His  person  was  strong  and  robust; 
his  manners  rustic,  not  clownish  ;  a  sort  of  dignified  plainness  and 
simplicity,  which  received  part  of  its  effect,  perhaps,  from  one's  know- 
ledge of  his  extraordinary  talent.  There  was  a  strong  expression  of 
sense  and  shrewdness  in  all  his  lineaments ;  the  eye  alone,  I  think, 
indicated  the  poetical  character  and  temperament.  It  was  large,  and 
of  a  dark  cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  literally  glowed],  when  he  spoke 
with  feeling  or  interest.  I  never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head, 
though  I  have  seen  the  most  distinguished  men  of  my  time. 

On  the  whole,  the  visit  to  Edinburgh  did  Burns 
harm  rather  than  good.  It  raised  hopes  which  were 
not  to  be  fulfilled  of  an  advancement  in  position,  and 
there  is  a  trace  of  disappointment  and  bitterness  in 
many  of  his  letters  from  this  time. 

After  making  several  tours  through  the  Border 
Country  and  through  the  Highlands,  Burns  finally 
settled  in  the  farm  of  Elliesland,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nith,  a  few  miles  from  Dumfries.  He  married  Jean 
Armour,  an  old  sweetheart  of  his,  and  tried  to  settle  down 
to  the  sober  life  of  a  farmer.  But  he  failed,  and  we  are 
told  of  poor  Burns  that  '  he  neither  ploughed,  nor  sowed, 
nor  reaped,  at  least,  like  a  hard-working  farmer ;  and 
then  he  had  a  bevy  of  servants  from  Ayrshire.  The 


454       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

lasses  did  nothing  but  bake  bread,  and  the  lads  sat  by 
the  fireside,  and  ate  it  warm  with  ale.' 

Burns  remained  at  Elliesland  from  June  1788  to 
December  1791,  and  his  chief  literary  works  there  were 
a  number  of  songs  and  ballads,  some  of  which  are  very 
beautiful,  and  his  famous  poem  of  *  Tarn  o'  Shanter.' 
This  last  work  owes  its  origin  to  Burns'  friendship  with 
the  learned  and  jovial  Captain  Grose  the  antiquary,  who 
was  travelling  through  Scotland  gathering  up  the  legends 
connected  with  its  ruined  castles  and  churches.  Alloway 
Kirk,  the  scene  of  the  poem,  is  but  a  mile  or  two  from 
Burns'  birthplace,  and  the  story  of  the  poem  is  one  of  the 
many  legends  he  had  listened  to  when  he  was  a  child. 

Of  all  his  ballads  perhaps  the  finest  is  that  addressed 
*  To  Mary  in  Heaven,'  in  memory  of  *  Highland  Mary,' 
who  was  to  have  been  his  wife,  but  who  was  suddenly 
cut  off  by  sickness.  We  are  told  that  on  the  evening  on 
which  he  composed  it, 

as  the  twilight  deepened  he  appeared  to  grow  very  sad  about  something, 
and  at  length  wandered  out  into  the  barnyard,  and  remained  striding  up 
and  down  slowly,  and  contemplating  the  sky,  which  was  singularly  clear 
and  starry.  At  last  Mrs.  Burns  found  him  stretched  on  a  mass  of  straw, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  beautiful  planet  that  shone  like  another  moon, 
and  prevailed  on  him  to  come  in. 

On  entering,  he  at  once  wrote  down  the  beautiful 
poem  : 

Thou  ling'ring  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
0  Mary  !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 


ROBERT  BURNS  455 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallo w'd  grove, 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past — 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace ! 

A*h  !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last ! 

Ayr,  gurgling,  kiss'd  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods,  thick'ning,  green : 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar, 

Twin'd  am'rous  round  the  raptur'd  scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 

The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray, 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaim'cl  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

During  these  years  Burns  kept  up  a  constant  corre- 
spondence on  literary  and  other  matters  with  many  of  his 
friends.  Mrs.  Dunlop,  of  Dunlop  in  Ayrshire,  was  one 
of  his  earliest  and  warmest  friends  and  patrons,  and  his 
letters  to  her  are  specially  interesting.  In  one  of  them 
he  says : 

We  know  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the  structure  of  our  souls,  so 
cannot  account  for  those  seeming  caprices  in  them  that  one  should  be 
particularly  pleased  with  this  thing,  or  struck  with  that,  which,  on 
minds  of  a  different  cast,  makes  no  extraordinary  impression.  I  have 
some  favourite  flowers  in  spring,  among  which  are  the  mountain  daisy, 
the  harebell,  the  foxglove,  the  wild-brier  rose,  the  budding  birch,  and 
the  hoary  hawthorn,  that  I  view  and  hang  over  with  particular  delight. 
I  never  hear  the  loud,  solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer  noon, 
or  the  wild  mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  gray  plovers  in  an  autumnal 
morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul  like  the  enthusiasm  of 
devotion  or  poetry. 

Tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  to  what  can  this  be  owing  ?  Are  we  a  piece 
of  machinery,  which,  like  the  ^olian  harp,  passive,  takes  the  impression 
of  the  passing  accident  ?  Or  do  these  workings  argue  something  within 
us  above  the  trodden  clod?  I  own  myself  partial  to  such  proofs  of  those 


456      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

awful  and  important  realities — a  God  that  made  all  things — man's 
immaterial  and  immortal  nature,  and  a  world  of  weal  or  wo  beyond 
death  and  the  grave  ! 

Of  the  rest  of  Burns'  life  little  remains  to  be  said. 
While  he  was  still  at  Elliesland  he  received  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  excise,  and  in  1791  he  gave  up  the  farm  and 
came  to  live  in  Dumfries,  giving  his  whole  time  to  the 
excise,  with  an  increased  salary,  which  was,  however,  only 
101.  a  year. 

He  continued  to  write  songs,  and  some  of  the  finest, 
such  as  '  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  '  and  '  Auld 
lang  syne,'  belong  to  this  period.  They  were  published 
in  a  periodical  work,  Thomson's  *  Scottish  Melodies.' 

Unhappily  he  continued  to  give  way  to  dissipation, 
and  his  health  began  to  fail.  In  July  1796  he  died  at 
the  early  age  of  thirty-seven. 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH 

AT  the  close  of  the  last  century  a  literary  controversy 
of  much  interest  was  being  carried  on  in  this  country. 
A  young  poet,  William  Wordsworth,  had  published  a 
volume  of  poems,  many  of  which  appeared  to  general 
readers  to  be  trivial  in  subject  and  ridiculously  simple 
in  language,  and  in  his  preface  he  had  laid  down  prin- 
ciples which  overthrew  the  established  canons  of  criticism. 
The  reviewers  and  the  greater  part  of  the  reading 
public  were  against  him,  and  for  many  years  he  was 
entirely  neglected  except  by  a  few  persons  of  finer  intelli- 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH  457 

gence,  or  who  were  freer  from  prejudice.  A  generation 
passed  away  and  it  was  seen  that  Wordsworth  was  right 
and  his  reviewers  wrong ;  his  poems  were  read  with  en- 
thusiasm, and  his  rank  is  now  recognised  as  only  a  little 
lower  than  Milton's. 

Wordsworth  was  born  in  1770  at  Cockermouth,  on 
the  skirts  of  the  lake  district  which  he  loved  so  well.  He 
tells  us  that  as  a  child  he  was  '  of  a  stiff,  moody,  violent 
temper,'  and  his  mother  once  said  that  the  only  one  of 
her  five  children  about  whose  future  life  she  was  anxious 
was  William ;  and  he,  she  said,  would  be  remarkable, 
either  for  good  or  for  evil. 

When  he  was  eight  years  old  his  mother  died,  and 
he  was  sent  to  school  at  Hawkeshead,  on  the  southern 
verge  of  the  lake  district ;  and  in  his  poem  '  The  Prelude ' 
he  describes  the  intense  pleasure  which  he  took  in  bath- 
ing, skating,  and  in  lonely  walks  by  night. 

I  would  walk  alone, 

Under  the  quiet  stars,-  and  at  that  time 
Have  felt  whate'er  there  is  of  power  in  sound 
To  breathe  an  elevated  mood,  by  form 
Or  image  unprofaned  ;  and  I  would  stand, 
If  the  night  blackened  with  a  coming  storm, 
Beneath  some  rock,  listening  to  notes  that  are 
The  ghostly  language  of  the  ancient  earth, 
Or  make  their  dim  abode  in  distant  winds. 

And  he  records  his  intense  gratitude  for  the  purifying 
and  ennobling  influences  of  nature  upon  him. 

Ye  mountains  and  ye  lakes 
And  sounding  cataracts,  ye  mists  and  winds 
That  dwell  among  the  hills  where  I  was  born, 
If  in  my  youth  I  have  been  pure  in  heart, 
If,  mingling  with  the  world,  I  am  content 


458       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

With  my  own  modest  pleasures,  and  have  lived 
With  God  and  Nature  communing,  removed 
From  little  enmities  and  low  desires — 
The  gift  is  yours. 

When  Wordsworth  was  fourteen  his  father  died  ;  but, 
by  the  care  of  his  uncles,  his  education  was  continued, 
and  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge  in  1787.  His  college  was 
St.  John's,  and  he  tells  us  : 

From  my  pillow,  looking  forth  by  light 
Of  moon  or  favouring  stars,  I  could  behold 
The  antechapel  where  the  statue  stood 
Of  Newton  with  his  prism  and  silent  face, 
The  marble  index  of  a  mind  for  ever 
Voyaging  through  strange  seas  of  Thought,  alone. 

During  one  of  the  College  vacations  Wordsworth  went 
with  a  friend  on  a  walking  tour  through  France  and 
Switzerland.  The  former  country  was  entering  on  the 
early  stages  of  the  Revolution,  and  there  was  universal 
hope  and  joy.  The  two  friends  fell  in  with  a  merry 
company  of  delegates  who  were  returning  from  Paris 
brimful  of  the  new  enthusiasm  of  liberty. 

Like  bees  they  swarmed,  gaudy  and  gay  as  bees  ; 

Some  vapoured  in  the  unruliness  of  joy, 

And  with  their  swords  flourished  as  if  to  fight 

The  saucy  air.     In  this  proud  company 

We  landed — took  with  them  our  evening  meal, 

Guests  welcome  almost  as  the  angels  were 

To  Abraham  of  old.     The  supper  done, 

With  flowing  cups  elate  and  happy  thoughts 

We  rose  at  signal  given,  and  formed  a  ring, 

And,  hand  in  hand,  danced  round  and  round  the  board ; 

All  hearts  were  open,  every  tongue  was  loud 

With  amity  and  glee. 

In  1791  Wordsworth  left   Cambridge  and  lived  for 
nearly  a  year  in  London,  and  then  for  another  year  in 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH 


459 


France,  and  watched  with  interest  the  gathering  storms 
of  the  Eevolution.  From  the  ruins  of  the  Bastile  he 
picked  up  a  stone  and  treasured  it  as  a  relic,  and  he  felt 
a  shock  of  pity  and  shame  when  England  joined  the 
continental  powers  in  making  war  on  France. 

In  1795  Wordsworth  settled  with  his  sister  Dora  at 
Kacedown  in  Dorset,  and  devoted  himself  to  his  life's 
work.  Their  means  were  scanty,  but  their  hopes  were 
high,  and  Dora's  faith  in  her  brother  never  faltered.  He 
had  already  published  in  1793  two  poems,  '  An  Evening 
Walk '  and  '  Descriptive  Sketches,'  and  he  now  wrote  the 
poem  '  Guilt  and  Sorrow,'  and  the  drama  *  The  Borderers,' 
in  neither  of  which  is  there  any  great  beauty ;  but  '  Lines 
left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Yew  Tree '  are  suggestive  of  some 
of  his  best  work  in  years  to  come.  He  also  wrote  '  The 
Kuined  Cottage,'  which  is  now  the  story  of  Margaret  in 
Book  I.  of  '  The  Excursion' ;  and  Coleridge,  who  was  pay- 
ing a  visit  at  this  time,  declared  it  to  be  '  superior  to  any- 
thing in  our  language  which  in  any  way  resembles  it.' 

In  1797  the  brother  and  sister  removed  into  Somerset 
and  became  neighbours  of  Coleridge,  and  in  1798  the 
famous  *  Lyrical  Ballads  '  were  published.  The  work  was 
the  joint  production  of  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  and 
the  latter  contributed  four  poems,  of  which  *  The  Ancient 
Mariner  '  was  one.  Wordsworth  contributed  eighteen, 
among  which  were  '  We  are  Seven,'  '  The  Last  of  the 
Flock,'  <  The  Idiot  Boy,'  and  others. 

The  second  edition  was  published  in  1800,  and  in  it 
appeared  the  preface  which,  even  more  than  the  poems, 
provoked  the  wrath  of  the  reviewers.  It  is  long  and 
elaborate,  and  in  it  Wordsworth  investigates  the  laws 


46o      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

of  poetic  diction,  and  reviews'  the  progress  of  English 
poetry.     A  single  extract  from  it  may  be  given  : 

The  principal  object  proposed  in  these  Poems  was  to  choose  in- 
cidents and  situations  from  common  life,  and  to  relate  or  describe  them 
throughout,  as  far  as  was  possible,  in  a  selection  of  language  really  used  by 
men,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  throw  over  them  a  certain  colouring  of 
imagination,  whereby  ordinary  things  should  be  presented  to  the  mind 
in  an  unusual  aspect.  Humble  and  rustic  life  was  generally  chosen, 
because  in  that  condition  the  essential  passions  of  the  heart  find  a 
better  soil  in  which  they  can  attain  their  maturity,  are  less  under 
restraint,  and  speak  a  plainer  and  more  emphatic  language. 

The  finest  poem  of  all  in  the  volume  is  that  entitled 
1  Lines  composed  a  few  miles  above  Tintern  Abbey,'  and 
lovers  of  Wordsworth  regard  this  poem  as  one  of  their 
choicest  treasures.  In  it  the  poet  recalls  the  violent 
raptures  of  his  youth,  when 

The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion  :  the  tall  rock, 
The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colours  and  their  forms  were  then  to  me 
An  appetite ;  a  feeling  and  a  love, 
That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm, 
By  thought  supplied,  nor  any  interest 
Unborrowed  from  the  eye. 

But  now  he  is  calmer,  and  his  joy  is  deeper. 

For  I  have  learned 

To  look  on  nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth  ;  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.    And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  loving  air, 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH  461 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  ; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

And  above  all  he  has  with  him  his  sister  to  share  and 
heighten  his  joys. 

My  dear,  dear  Friend  ;  and  in  thy  voice  I  catch 

The  language  of  my  former  heart,  and  read 

My  former  pleasures  in  the  shooting  lights 

Of  thy  wild  eyes.     Oh  !  yet  a  little  while 

May  I  behold  in  thee  what  I  was  once, 

My  dear,  dear  Sister !  and  this  prayer  I  make, 

Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 

The  heart  that  loved  her ;  'tis  her  privilege, 

Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 

From  joy  to  joy  :  for  she  can  so  inform 

The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 

With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 

With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues, 

Bash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 

Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 

The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 

Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 

Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 

Is  full  of  blessings.     Therefore  let  the  moon 

Shine  on  thee  in  thy  solitary  walk  ; 

And  let  the  misty  mountain  winds  be  free 

To  blow  against  thee  :  and  in  after  years, 

When  these  wild  ecstasies  shall  be  matured 

Into  a  sober  pleasure ;  when  thy  mind 

Shall  be  a  mansion  for  all  lovely  forms, 

Thy  memory  be  as  a  dwelling  place 

For  all  sweet  sounds  and  harmonies  ;  oh  !  then, 

If  solitude,  or  fear,  or  pain,  or  grief, 

Should  be  thy  portion,  with  what  healing  thoughts1 

Of  tender  joy  wilt  thou  remember  me, 

And  these  my  exhortations  ! 

After    the    publication    of    the   *  Lyrical    Ballads,' 
Wordsworth  and  his  sister  sailed  to  Hamburg,  and  spent 


462       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  winter  of  1798-9  at  Goslar  in  Germany.  Here 
Wordsworth  wrote  several  of  his  most  charming  poems, 
such  as  '  Lucy  Gray,'  and  *  Kuth,'  and  the  four  little 
poems  on  '  Lucy,'  which  appear  to  be  the  record  of  some 
secret  sorrow.  Wordsworth  never  wrote  sweeter  lines 
than  those  of  the  poem : 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower. 

After  their  return  from  Germany,  the  brother  and 
sister  settled  at  Grasmere  in  Westmoreland,  and  here 
the  poet  remained  for  the  long  remainder  of  his  life, 
living  first  at  Town-end,  and  afterwards  at  Kydal  Mount. 
In  1802  the  measure  of  his  happiness  was  filled  by  his 
marriage  with  Mary  Hutchinson,  of  whom  he  gives 
a  delightful  picture  in  the  poem  : 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight. 

Earlier  in  the  same  year  the  brother  and  sister  paid 
a  visit  to  France,  and  in  Miss  Wordsworth's  diary  we 
read  : 

July  30,  1802.— Left  London  between  five  and  six  o'clock  of  the 
morning,  outside  the  Dover  coach.  A  beautiful  morning.  The  City, 
St.  Paul's,  with  the  river,  a  multitude  of  little  boats,  made  a  beautiful 
sight  as  we  crossed  Westminster  Bridge ;  the  houses,  not  overhung  by 
their  clouds  of  smoke,  were  spread  out  endlessly ;  yet  the  sun  shone  so 
brightly,  with  such  a  pure  light,  that  there  was  something  like  the 
purity  of  one  of  Nature's  own  grand  spectacles. 

There  is  beauty  in  this  description,  but  in  her 
brother's  sonnet  the  picture  is  transfused  with  a  more 
glorious  beauty. 

Earth  hath  not  anything  to  show  more  fair : 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty  : 
This  City  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH  463 

The  beauty  of  the  morning  ;  silent,  bare, 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 

Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky  ; 

All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 

In  his  first  splendour,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 

Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 

The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will ; 

Dear  God !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep ; 

And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! 

Wordsworth  is  specially  happy  as  a  writer  of  sonnets, 
and  several  of  his  finest  belong  to  this  year,  1802. 
Among  them  may  be  mentioned  the  following : 

Fair  Star  of  evening,  splendour  of  the  west. 
Milton  !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour. 
Great  men  have  been  among  us. 

In  the  year  1803  Wordsworth  went  on  a  tour  through 
Scotland,  and  several  of  his  poems  are  memorials  of  his 
visit,  and  among  the  most  beautiful  is  the  one  entitled 
4  To  a  Highland  Girl.' 

But  the  most  important  work  of  these  years  is  '  The 
Prelude,'  a  long  poem  in  fourteen  books,  which  was 
begun  in  1799  and  finished  in  1805.  It  was  addressed 
to  Coleridge,  who  speaks  of  it  as 

An  Orphic  song  indeed, 

A  song  divine  of  high  and  passionate  thoughts 
To  their  own  music  chanted  ! 

It  is  an  autobiography,  and  sketches  the  growth  of  the 
poet's  mind,  and  it  was  intended  to  be  an  introduction 
to  a  grand  work  in  three  parts,  which  should  include  all 
the  diverse  poems  which  the  poet  had  written.  The 
design  remained  unfinished ;  '  The  Prelude '  was  not 
published  till  after  the  poet's  death;  but  *  The  Excursion,' 


464       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

which  was  to  form  Part  II.,  was  finished  and  published 
in  1814. 

*  The  Excursion '  is  in  nine  books,  and,  like  all  of 
Wordsworth's  long  poems,  has  many  passages  which  are 
bald  and  prosaic ;  but  there  are  also  many  passages  of 
rare  beauty.  The  action  of  the  poem  is  extremely 
simple,  and  the  characters  are  few :  the  Wanderer,  the 
Solitary,  the  Pastor,  and  one  or  two  others.  The  ex- 
cursion is  through  two  of  the  neighbouring  valleys, 
and  the  *  Churchyard  among  the  Mountains '  is  that  of 
Grasmere. 

The  Wanderer  is  the  chief  character,  and,  though 
he  is  described  as  an  old  Scotch  pedlar,  he  is  really 
Wordsworth  himself,  and  he  pours  out  the  meditative 
wisdom  of  the  poet  in  grave  and  lofty  verse.  Perhaps 
the  finest  book  is  the  fourth,  '  Despondency  Corrected.' 
In  this  book  a  very  beautiful  description  is  given  of  the 
rise  of  the  Grecian  mythology,  and  a  few  lines  may  be 
extracted  from  it. 

The  nightly  hunter,  lifting  a  bright  eye 

Up  towards  the  crescent  moon,  with  grateful  heart 

Called  on  the  lovely  wanderer  who  bestowed 

That  timely  light,  to  share  his  joyous  sport : 

And  hence,  a  beaming  Goddess  with  her  Nymphs 

Across  the  lawn  and  through  the  darksome  grove, 

Not  unaccompanied  with  tuneful  notes 

By  echo  multiplied  from  rock  or  cave, 

Swept  in  the  storm  of  chase  ;  as  moon  and  stars 

Glance  rapidly  along  the  clouded  heaven, 

When  winds  are  blowing  strong. 

And  a  few  pages  later  there  occurs  the  beautiful  image  : 

I  have  seen 
A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH  465 

Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 

The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell ; 

To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 

Listened  intensely  ;  and  his  countenance  soon 

Brightened  with  joy ;  for  from  within  were  heard 

Murmurings,  whereby  the  monitor  expressed 

Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 

Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself 

Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith  ;  and  there  are  times, 

I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 

Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things  ; 

Of  ebb  and  flow,  and  ever  during  power ; 

And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 

Of  endless  agitation. 

There  are  still  several  poems  which  must  be  at  least 
mentioned.  The  story  of  '  The  White  Doe  of  Eylstone  ' 
was  written  in  1807,  and  is  the  pleasant  memorial  of  a 
summer  visit  to  Yorkshire.  '  The  Waggoner  '  belongs  to 
1805,  and  describes  the  mountain  road  which  led  from 
Grasmere  to  Keswick,  where  the  poet's  friends,  Coleridge 
and  Southey,  lived.  The  story  of  'Michael,'  in  which 
the  noble  simplicity  of  the  mountain  peasants  is  so 
beautifully  described,  belongs  to  1800,  and  in  the  same 
year  Wordsworth  wrote  '  The  Pet  Lamb.' 

To  the  period  1803-6  belongs  the  wonderful  '  Ode 
on  Intimations  of  Immortality,'  which  Emerson  speaks 
of  as  the  high-water  mark  of  English  poetry.  From  his 
early  youth,  without  knowing  it,  Wordsworth  had  been  a 
Platonist,  and  he  tells  us  : 

I  used  to  brood  over  the  stories  of  Enoch  and  Elijah,  and  almost  to 
persuade  myself  that,  whatever  might  become  of  others,  I  should  be 
translated,  in  something  of  the  same  way,  to  heaven.  With  a  feeling 
congenial  to  this,  I  was  often  unable  to  think  of  external  things  as 
having  external  existence,  and  I  communed  with  all  that  I  saw  as 
something  not  apart  from,  but  inherent  in,  my  own  immaterial  nature. 

HH 


466       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Many  times,  while  going  to  school,  have  I  grasped  at  a  wall  or  tree  to 
recall  myself  from  this  abyss  of  idealism  to  the  reality.  At  that  time  I 
was  afraid  of  such  processes. 

In  later  periods  of  life  I  have  deplored,  as  we  have  all  reason  to  do, 
a  subjugation  of  an  opposite  character,  and  have  rejoiced  over  the 
remembrances,  as  is  expressed  in  the  lines : 

Obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things, 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings,  &c. 

To  that  dream-like  vividness  and  splendour  which  invest  objects  of 
sight  in  childhood,  everyone,  I  believe,  if  he  would  look  back,  could  bear 
testimony. 

The  ode  is  too  long  to  quote,  but  Stanzas  I,  II,  V, 
VI,  IX  may  be  pointed  out  as  specially  beautiful. 
Whatever  one  may  think  of  its  truth,  no  one  with  a 
sense  of  poetic  beauty  can  read  without  delight  the 
magnificent  Stanza  V: 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting. 

Stanzas  VII  and  VIII  may  have  been  partly  sug- 
gested by  the  strangely  precocious  Hartley  Coleridge, 
the  infant  son  of  the  poet's  friend. 

The  last  really  beautiful  poem  written  by  Words- 
worth belongs  to  1818,  and  describes  '  An  Evening  of 
extraordinary  Splendour  and  Beauty.'  He  wrote  many 
short  poems  in  later  years,  of  which  the  most  noteworthy 
were  the  series  of  *  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets  '  and  '  Memo- 
rials'  of  towns  in  Scotland  and  on  the  Continent. 
After  1830  the  excellence  of  the  poet's  work  began  to  be 
universally  recognised.  In  1843,  on  the  death  of  Southey, 
he  was  created  Poet  Laureate,  and  in  1850  he  died. 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  467 


COLERIDGE  AND   SOUTHEY. 

COLERIDGE  and  SOUTHEY  were  kinsmen  and  fellow- 
workers,  and  were  both  of  them  ardent  and  reverent 
admirers  of  Wordsworth.  In  the  malicious  and  thought- 
less criticism  of  the  time,  the  three  were  classed  together 
as  the  'Lakers,'  and  as  the  founders  of  a  new  school  of 
poetry.  But  when  ridicule  gave  way  to  true  insight,  it 
was  seen  that  Wordsworth  stood  alone  as  the  creator  of 
a  new  style,  and  his  two  friends,  though  each  excellent 
in  his  own  province,  had  but  little  in  common  with  him.' 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  born  in  1772,  at 
Ottery  St.  Mary  in  Devonshire,  where  his  father,  a  kindly 
eccentric  man,  'not  unlike  Fielding's  Parson  Adams,' 
was  vicar  and  schoolmaster.  The  father  died  when 
Samuel  was  nine  years  old,  and  he  was  sent  away  to 
Christ's  Hospital  in  London,  where  Lamb  was  his  school- 
fellow, and  describes  him  thus  : 

Come  back  into  memory,  like  as  thou  wert  in  the  day-spring  of  thy 
fancies,  with  hope  like  a  fiery  column  before  thee— the  dark  pillar  not 
yet  turned — Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge — Logician,  Metaphysician,  Bard  J 
How  have  I  seen  the  casual  passer  through  the  cloisters  stand  still 
entranced  with  admiration,  to  hear  thee  unfold,  in  thy  deep  and  sweet 
intonations,  the  mysteries  of  lamblichus,  or  Plotinus,  or  reciting  Homer 
in  his  Greek,  or  Pindar,  while  the  walls  of  the  old  Grey  Friars  re-echoed 
to  the  accents  of  the  inspired  charity  boy. 

Wordsworth  also  in  '  The  Prelude,'  after  reviewing 
his  own  happy  school-time  at  Hawkshead,  speaks  thus 
of  his  friend : 

Of  rivers,  fields, 

And  groves  I  speak  to  thee,  my  friend  !  to  thee, 
Who,  yet  a  liveried  school-boy,  in  the  depths 
Of  the  huge  city,  on  the  leaded  roof 


468       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Of  that  huge  edifice,  thy  school  and  home, 
Wert  used  to  lie  and  gaze  upon  the  clouds 
Moving  in  heaven ;  or,  of  that  pleasure  tired, 
To  shut  thine  eyes,  and  by  internal  light 
See  trees,  and  meadows,  and  thy  native  stream, 
Far  distant,  thus  beheld  from  year  to  year 
Of  a  long  exile. 

In  1791  Coleridge  entered  Cambridge  just  as  Words- 
worth left  it ;  and  two  years  later,  for  some  unexplained 
reason,  he  suddenly  quitted  the  university,  and  enlisted, 
like  Steele,  in  a  cavalry  regiment  under  an  assumed 
name.  Four  months  later  he  was  discovered,  his  dis- 
charge was  secured,  and  he  returned  to  Cambridge  in 
April  1794. 

Two  months  later  he  paid  a  visit  to  Oxford,  and  his 
life-long  friendship  began  with  Southey,  who,  like  him- 
self, was  then  an  undergraduate.  They  were  both 
equally  ardent  in  their  good  wishes  to  France,  and  they 
planned  and  executed  a  drama,  'The  Fall  of  Robes- 
pierre,' and  Coleridge  contributed  some  lines  to 
Southey's  poem,  *  Joan  of  Arc.' 

Later  in  the  year  Coleridge  visited  Southey  at  Bristol, 
and  became  acquainted  with  Sara  Fricker,  his  future 
wife,  whose  younger  sister  Edith  was  already  engaged 
to  Southey.  The  two  ardent  youths  were  at  this  time 
dreaming  of  a  scheme  which  they  called  Pantisocracy, 
and  which  was  to  be  realised  on  the  banks  of  the  Sus- 
quehanna.  With  England  they  were  profoundly  dissatis- 
fied, and  even  France  was  beginning  to  disappoint  them. 
But  they  believed  that  a  band  of  noble-minded  youths, 
each  accompanied  by  a  loyal  and  loving  wife,  might 
found  a  pleasant  and  prosperous  Utopia  in  America. 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  469 

The  scheme  was  generous,  but  impracticable  ;  and  after 
a  little  while  it  was  given  up,  for  the  necessary  funds  were 
unattainable. 

In  1795  both  Coleridge  and  Sou  they  had  left  the 
university,  and  we  find  them  delivering  courses  of  lec- 
tures in  Bristol,  and  being  well  received.  In  October  of 
the  same  year  Coleridge  was  married  to  Sara  Fricker, 
and  the  young  couple  went  to  live  in  a  pleasant  cottage 
near  the  sea  at  Clevedon  in  Somerset. 

In  the  end  the  union  went  to  wreck,  like  so  much 
else  in  the  life  of  Coleridge ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  read  in 
his  poems  such  lines  as  the  following : 

Low  was  our  pretty  cot :  our  tallest  rose 
Peeped  at  the  chamber-window.     We  could  hear 
At  silent  noon,  and  eve,  and  early  morn, 
The  sea's  faint  murmur.     In  the  open  air 
Our  myrtles  blossomed  ;  and  across  the  porch 
Thick  jasmines  twined  :  the  little  landscape  round 
Was  green  and  woody,  and  refreshed  the  eye. 
It  was  a  spot  which  you  might  aptly  call 
The  Valley  of  Seclusion. 

In  1796  Coleridge  published  his  first  volume  of 
poems,  and  a  second  edition  was  called  for  in  the  follow- 
ing year.  They  are  about  fifty  in  number,  and  are  dis- 
tinguished in  his  collected  works  as  *  Poems  written  in 
Youth.'  The  one  showing  the  greatest  marks  of  genius 
is  '  Keligious  Musings,'  which  was  finished  on  Christmas 
Eve  1794. 

The  poet  was  indignant  at  the  English  war  on  France, 
and  shocked  that  it  should  be  waged  in  the  name  of 
Christianity. 

Thee  to  defend,  meek  Galilean  !     Thee 
And  thy  mild  laws  of  Love  unutterable, 


470      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Mistrust  and  enmity  have  burst  the  bands 

Of  social  peace ;  and  listening  treachery  lurks 

With  pious  fraud  to  snare  a  brother's  life  ; 

And  childless  widows  o'er  the  groaning  land 

Wail  numberless ;  and  orphans  weep  for  bread, 

Thee  to  defend,  dear  Saviour  of  mankind  ! 

Thee,  Lamb  of  God  !  t  Thee,  blameless  Prince  of  Peace  ! 

From  all  sides  rush  the  thirsty  brood  of  War. 

Then  the  poet  grows  calmer,  and  dreams  of  the  golden 
age  that  has  been,  and  of  the  Pantisocracy  that  is  to 
come,  sweep  before  him. 

Lord  of  unsleeping  Love, 
From  everlasting  Thou  !     We  shall  not  die. 
These,  even  these,  in  mercy  didst  Thou  form, 
Teachers  of  Good  through  Evil,  by  brief  wrong 
Making  Truth  lovely,  and  her  future  might 
Magnetic  o'er  the  fixed  untrembling  heart. 
In  the  primeval  age  a  dateless  while, 
The  vacant  shepherd  wandered  with  his  flock, 
Pitching  his  tent  where'er  the  green  grass  waved. 
But  soon  Imagination  conjured  up 
A  host  of  new  desires  :  with  busy  aim, 
Each  for  himself,  Earth's  eager  children  toiled. 
So  Property  began,  twy-streaming  fount, 
Whence  Vice  and  Virtue  flow,  honey  and  gall. 
Hence  the  soft  couch,  and  many-coloured  robe, 
The  timbrel,  and  arch'd  dome  and  costly  feast, 
With  all  the  inventive  arts,  that  nursed  the  soul 
To  forms  of  beauty,  and  by  sensual  wants 
Unsensualised  the  mind,  which  in  the  means 
Learnt  to  forget  the  grossness  of  the  end, 
Best  pleasured  with  its  own  activity. 

In  1797  Coleridge  removed  to  Nether  Stowey  in 
Somerset,  and  in  the  same  year  William  and  Dora 
Wordsworth  became  his  neighbours,  and  the  famous 
'  Lyrical  Ballads '  were  planned  and  executed.  Coleridge, 
in  the  *  Biographia  Literaria,'  tells  us: 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOU  THEY  471 

During  the  first  year  that  Mr.  Wordsworth  and  I  were  neighbours, 
our  conversations  turned  chiefly  on  the  two  cardinal  points  of  poetry, 
the  power  of  exciting  the  sympathy  of  the  reader  by  a  faithful  adherence 
to  the  truth  of  nature,  and  the  power  of  giving  the  interest  of  novelty  by 
the  modifying  colours  of  imagination. 

The  thought  suggested  itself  that  a  series  of  poems  might  be  com- 
posed of  two  sorts.  In  the  one  the  incidents  and  agents  were  to  be,  in 
part  at  least,  supernatural ;  and  the  excellence  aimed  at  was  to  consist 
in  the  interesting  of  the  affections  by  the  dramatic  truth  of  such 
emotions  as  would  naturally  accompany  such  situations,  supposing 
them  real. 

For  the  second  class,  subjects  were  to  be  chosen  from  ordinary  life  ; 
the  characters  and  incidents  were  to  be  such  as  will  be  found  in  every 
village  and  its  vicinity  where  there  is  a  meditative  and  feeling  mind  to 
seek  after  them,  or  to  notice  them  when  they  present  themselves. 

Coleridge's  chief  contribution  to  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads ' 
was  the  well-known  '  Ancient  Mariner,'  a  poem  combin- 
ing in  so  high  a  degree  simplicity  of  language,  charm  of 
melody,  and  fascination  of  story.  To  the  same  period 
belong  the  first  part  of  the  weird  but  beautiful  story  of 
1  Christabel,'  and  the  strange  melodious  fragment  of 
'  Kubla  Khan.'  In  perfection  of  melody,  if  in  nothing  else, 
Coleridge  in  these  poems  excels  Wordsworth,  and  it  is  a 
pity  that  his  works  of  this  kind  are  so  few. 

During  the  same  year,  1797,  Coleridge  wrote  his 
magnificent  ode  '  France,'  in  which  he  sorrowfully  re- 
canted his  former  revolutionary  opinions. 

When  France  in  wrath  her  giant  limbs  upreared, 
And  with  that  oath,  which  smote  air,  earth,  and  sea, 
Stamped  her  strong  foot  and  said  she  would  be  free, 
Bear  witness  for  me,  how  I  hoped  and  feared  ! 

But  now  France,  instead  of  giving  freedom  to  others, 
had  conquered  and  enslaved  Switzerland. 


472       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Forgive  me,  Freedom  !  O  forgive  those  dreams  ! 

I  hear  thy  voice,  I  hear  thy  loud  lament, 

From  bleak  Helvetia's  icy  cavern  sent— 
I  hear  thy  groans  upon  her  blood-stained  streams, 

Heroes,  that  for  your  peaceful  country  perished, 
And  ye  that,  fleeing,  spot  your  mountain  snows 

With  bleeding  wounds  ;  forgive  me,  that  I  cherished 
One  thought  that  ever  blessed  your  cruel  foes ! 

The  Sensual  and  the  Dark  rebel  in  vain, 
Slaves  by  their  own  compulsion  1     In  mad  game 
They  burst  their  manacles  and  wear  the  name 

Of  Freedom,  graven  on  a  heavier  chain  ! 

In  1798  Coleridge  went  with  the  Wordsworths  to 
Germany,  and,  after  his  return  in  1799,  began  to  write  for 
the  Morning  Post.  Some  of  his  poems  had  already 
appeared  in  this  paper,  notably  the  amusing  doggerel 
'  The  Devil's  Thoughts  '  and  the  terrible  onslaught  on  Pitt 
entitled  '  Fire,  Famine,  and  Slaughter.'  The  editor,  Mr. 
Stuart,  valued  Coleridge's  help  very  highly,  and,  from  the 
summer  of  1799  till  the  end  of  1802,  Coleridge  contri- 
buted papers  sometimes  at  the  rate  of  two  or  three  a 
week. 

In  1799  he  paid  a  visit  with  the  Wordsworths  to 
Cumberland,  and  in  1800  he  settled  in  Keswick  at  Greta 
Hall,  which  afterwards  became  for  so  many  years  the 
home  of  Southey.  It  must  have  been  about  this  time 
that  he  contracted  the  fatal  habit  of  indulgence  in 
opium. 

In  1804  he  went  seeking  health  in  a  voyage  to  Malta, 
and  afterwards  visited  Naples  and  Rome,  but  returned 
to  England  in  1806  worse  in  health  than  ever.  The  next 
ten  years  is  a  period  in  his  life  of  misery  and  humiliation. 
He  flitted  uneasily  about  the  country,  became  estranged 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  473 

from  his  family,  wrote  poems  expressive  of  the  deepest 
misery,  and  tried  various  journalistic  and  lecturing 
enterprises  which  resulted  in  failure.  During  this  time 
Lord  Byron  was  kind  to  him,  and  through  his  interest 
the  play  of  '  Eemorse,'  which  Coleridge  had  written  in 
earlier  years,  was  brought  out  at  Drury  Lane  with  great 
success.  Coleridge  obtained  by  this  a  much  larger  sum 
than  all  that  he  had  hitherto  gained  by  his  literary 
labours ;  but  in  little  more  than  a  year  this  great  sum 
was  gone,  so  terrible  was  the  dissipation  into  which  he 
had  fallen. 

In  1816  Coleridge  placed  himself  under  the  care  of 
Mr.  Gillman,  a  doctor  at  Highgate,  and  lived  with  him 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  His  health  was  in  great  measure 
restored,  and  with  it  his  mental  activity. 

In  1817  he  published  the  '  Biographia  Literaria,'  a 
work  interesting  in  many  ways,  but  especially  for  the 
masterly  exposition  it  gives  of  the  nature  and  scope  of 
Wordsworth's  poetic  work.  In  1825  he  published  '  Aids 
to  Keflection,'  an  interesting  theological  work,  consisting 
of  aphorisms  from  the  writings  of  Archbishop  Leighton 
and  other  old  divines,  together  with  Coleridge's  own 
eomments  and  developments. 

In  1828  he  accompanied  the  Wordsworths  on  a  tour 
on  the  Continent,  and  in  1834  he  died. 

Carlyle,  in  his  life  of  '  John  Stirling,'  has  drawn  a 
wonderfully  vivid  and  pathetic  picture  of  Coleridge  in  his 
latter  years,  and  a  few  short  extracts  from  this  may  be 
given : 

Coleridge  sat  on  the  brow  of  Highgate  Hill  in  those  years,  looking 
down  on  London  and  its  smoke  tumult  like  a  sage  escaped  from  the 


474       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

inanity  of  life's  battle,  attracting  towards  him  the  thoughts  of  innumerable 
brave  souls  still  engaged  there.  His  express  contributions  to  poetry, 
philosophy,  or  any  specific  province  of  human  literature  or  enlighten- 
ment, had  been  small  and  sadly  intermittent ;  but  he  had,  especially 
among  young  inquiring  men,  a  higher  than  literary,  a  kind  of  prophetic 
or  magician  character. 

The  practical  intellects  of  the  world  did  not  much  heed  him,  or 
carelessly  reckoned  him  a  metaphysical  dreamer;  but  to  the  rising 
spirits  of  the  young  generation  he  had  this  dusky  sublime  character, 
and  sat  there  as  a  kind  of  Magus,  girt  in  mystery  and  enigma;  his 
Dodona  oak  grove  (Mr.  Gillman's  house  at  Highgate)  whispering  strange 
things,  uncertain  whether  oracles  or  jargon. 

The  good  man — he  was  now  getting  old,  towards  sixty  perhaps,  and 
gave  you  the  idea  of  a  life  that  had  been  full  of  sufferings  ;  a  life  heavy- 
laden,  half-vanquished,  still  swimming  painfully  in  seas  of  manifold 
physical  and  other  bewilderment.  Brow  and  head  were  round  and  of 
massive  weight,  but  the  face  was  flabby  and  irresolute.  The  deep  eyes, 
of  a  light  hazel,  were  as  full  of  sorrow  as  of  inspiration  ;  confused  pain 
looked  mildly  from  them,  as  in  a  kind  of  mild  astonishment. 

The  life  of  Robert  Southey  is  simpler  and  happier 
than  that  of  his  more  highly-gifted  friend.  He  had  not 
the  soaring  genius  of  Coleridge,  but  he  possessed  a  pure 
and  noble  spirit,  which  enabled  him  to  toil  on  without 
flagging  to  the  end  of  a  long  and  laborious  life. 

When  he  was  approaching  fifty  years  of  age,  he  set 
himself  to  compose,  in  a  series  of  letters  to  a  friend,  the 
memorials  of  his  early  life,  and  they  form  a  pleasant 
series  of  pictures  of  curious  places  and  people  in  his 
West  of  England  home. 

He  was  born  in  1774,  in  Bristol,  where  his  father  was 
a  linendraper ;  but  he  spent  most  of  his  childhood  with 
his  aunt,  an  eccentric  maiden  lady  living  in  Bath,  and 
who  had  a  passion  for  the  theatre. 

I  had  seen  more  plays  before  I  was  seven  years  old  than  I  have  ever 
since  I  was  twenty,  and  heard  more  conversation  about  the  theatre  than 
any  other  subject. 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  475 

Shakspere  was  in  my  hands  as  soon  as  I  could  read ;  and  it  was  long 
before  I  had  any  other  knowledge  of  the  history  of  England  than  what  I 
gathered  from  his  plays. 

I  went  through  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  also  before  I  was  eight  years 
old ;  circumstances  enable  me  to  recollect  the  time  accurately.  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher  were  great  theatrical  names,  and  therefore  there  was 
no  scruple  about  letting  me  peruse  their  works. 

From  a  circulating  library  he  obtained  a  copy  of 
Hoole's  translation  of  '  Ariosto,'  and  read  it  with  delight ; 
but  Spenser's  *  Faery  Queen'  was  delightful  beyond 
measure. 

Southey  gives  entertaining  accounts  of  several  schools 
which  he  attended,  at  none  of  which  was  the  teach- 
ing very  thorough,  and  at  the  age  of  fourteen  he  was 
entered  as  a  scholar  at  Westminster.  There  he  remained 
four  years,  and  ibrmed  friendships  which  lasted  for  life. 

He  went  up  to  Oxford  in  1792,  his  head  all  filled 
with  Eousseau  and  Werther,  and  in  1794  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Coleridge,  and  readily  entered  into  his 
dreams  of  Pantisocracy  and  the  regeneration  of  society. 

The  dreams  could  not  be  realised,  and  Southey  went 
away  to  visit  his  uncle  Hill,  who  was  chaplain  of  the 
English  Legation  in  Lisbon;  but  before  starting  he  mar- 
ried Edith  Fricker,  in  November  1795.  The  young  lovers 
parted  at  the  church  door  and  hoped  for  a  happy 
reunion. 

In  six  months  Southey  was  back  in  England  and 
was  busy  with  literary  work.  He  had  published  in  1794 
a  tiny  volume  of  poems,  and  now  there  appeared  the 
first  of  his  epics,  the  story  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  twelve  books. 
There  is  prefixed  to  it  a  graceful  sonnet  addressed  to  his 
wife : 


476        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Edith  1  I  brought  thee  late  a  humble  gift — 

The  songs  of  earlier  youth ;  it  was  a  wreath 

With  many  an  unripe  blossom  garlanded, 

And  many  a  weed,  yet  mingled  with  some  flowers 

Which  will  not  wither.    Dearest !  now  I  bring 

A  worthier  offering ;  thou  wilt  prize  it  well, 

For  well  thou  know'st  amid  what  painful  cares 

My  solace  was  in  this :  and  though  to  me 

There  is  no  music  in  the  hollowness 

Of  common  praise,  yet  well  content  am  I 

Now  to  look  back  upon  my  youth's  green  prime 

Nor  idly,  nor  unprofitably  past, 

Imping  in  such  adventurous  essay 

The  wing,  and  strengthening  it  for  steadier  flight. 

The  epic  was  received  with  much  favour,  and  a 
second  and  further  editions  were  soon  called  for.  But 
to  us  there  is  but  little  beauty  discernible  in  this  or 
indeed  in  any  of  Southey's  epics.  In  the  preface  he 
tells  us  how  the  whole  poem  with  its  thousands  of  verses 
was  composed  in  a  holiday  vacation  of  six  weeks  in  1793, 
and  verse  which  is  poured  forth  so  profusely  can  hardly 
be  of  the  highest  excellence. 

A  year  or  two  later,  two  more  volumes  of  poems  were 
published,  containing,  among  other  works,  his  '  English 
Eclogues,'  a  series  of  pleasant  stories  appealing  to  the 
affections. 

But  if  we  compare  these  poems,  pleasant  and  graceful 
as  they  are,  with  the  tale  of  Margaret  in  the  first  book 
of  'The  Excursion,'  or  with  the  'Michael'  or  *  The 
Brothers/  all  of  them  poems  kindred  in  subject,  we  feel 
there  is  an  immense  difference  in  the  degree  of  imagina- 
tive power.  Southey's  verses  have  neither  the  medi- 
tative depth  of  Wordsworth's,  nor  the  subtle  charm  of 
rhythm  of  those  of  Coleridge. 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  477 

For  some  years  the  young  couple  were  uncertain 
where  to  live,  and  in  1800  they  paid  a  visit  to  Lisbon, 
and  remained  with  the  kind  uncle  Hill  for  a  twelve- 
month. On  their  return  to  England,  in  1801,  Coleridge 
wrote  to  them  describing  the  charms  of  Greta  Hall,  and 
inviting  them  to  join  him. 

Two  years  later  they  went,  and  Greta  Hall  became 
their  final  resting-place.  In  1804  poor  Coleridge  with 
ruined  health  went  to  Malta,  and  on  his  return  was  a 
restless  wanderer  until  he  finally  settled  in  Mr.  Gillman's 
house  at  Highgate. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Coleridge  with  her  little  ones, 
Hartley  and  Sara  and  Derwent,  remained  at  Greta 
Hall,  and  the  children  received  from  their  uncle  the 
loving  care  of  a  father.  Gradually  a  little  family  of  his 
own  grew  up  round  Southey,  Edith  and  Bertha  and 
Herbert  and  others,  and  there  was  need  for  unflagging 
industry.  *  My  ways,'  he  used  to  say,  *  are  as  broad  as 
the  king's  high  road,  and  my  means  lie  in  an  inkstand.' 

In  1801  Southey  published  another  epic  poem — a  wild 
Arabian  story — '  Thalaba  the  Destroyer  ' ;  then,  in  1805, 
the  story  of '  Madoc,'  a  Welsh  prince  of  the  twelfth  century, 
who  is  supposed  to  found  an  empire  in  America ;  then  in 
1810  appeared  the  Indian  epic,  *  The  Curse  of  Kehama,' 
with  its  strange  legends  from  Hindoo  mythology ;  and  in 
1814  the  Spanish  story  of  *  Koderick  the  Last  of  the 
Goths.'  In  all  of  these  poems  Southey  shows  the  most 
minute  and  loving  acquaintance  with  the  legendary  his- 
tory of  foreign  nations,  and  freely  pours  out  the  treasures 
which  he  had  gathered  from  many  an  old  folio  and 
manuscript. 


478       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1805  he  published  another  volume  of  Metrical 
Tales  and  Ballads,  containing,  among  other  poems,  the 
well-known  '  Battle  of  Blenheim  '  and  the  *  Inchcape 
Kock.' 

His  visits  to  Lisbon  had  inspired  him  with  a  pas- 
sionate love  for  Spanish  and  Portuguese  literature,  and  he 
translated  '  Amadis  of  Gaul,'  '  Palmerin  of  England,'  and 
the  *  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,'  and  wrote  also  a  '  History  of 
Brazil '  and  a  '  History  of  the  Peninsular  War.'  In  these 
works  his  genial  humour  and  ripened  judgment  are  well 
shown ;  and  Lord  Byron,  who  did  not  love  his  poetry, 
declared  that  his  prose  was  perfect. 

In  1813  he  published  his  '  Life  of  Nelson,'  one  of  his 
finest  works ;  in  1820  his  '  Life  of  Wesley,'  which  Coleridge 
never  tired  of  reading;  and  in  1835  his  *  Life  of  Cowper,' 
which,  though  somewhat  prolix,  is  also  admirable.  For 
thirty  years  he  was  a  constant  contributor  to  the 
'  Quarterly  Be  view,'  and  derived  from  it  a  great  part  of 
his  income. 

His  course  of  life  in  later  years  has  been  lovingly 
described  by  his  son  Cuthbert : 

His  greatest  relaxation  was  in  a  mountain  excursion,  or  a  picnic  by 
the  side  of  one  of  the  lakes,  tarns,  or  streams ;  and  these  parties,  of 
which  he  was  the  life  and  soul,  will  long  live  in  the  recollections  of  those 
who  shared  them. 

Saddleback  and  Causey  Pike,  two  mountains  rarely  ascended  by 
tourists,  were  great  favourites  with  him,  and  were  the  summits  most 
frequently  chosen  for  a  grand  expedition  ;  and  the  two  tarns  upon 
Saddleback  were  amongst  the  spots  he  thought  most  remarkable  for 
grand  and  lonely  beauty. 

But  in  his  books  he  found  his  greatest  delight. 

His  house  consisted  of  a  good  many  small  rooms,  connected  by  long 
passages,  all  of  which,  with  great  ingenuity,  he  made  available  for 


COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY 


479 


holding  books,  with  which,  indeed,  the  house  was  lined  from  top  to 
bottom. 

His  own  sitting-room,  which  was  the  largest  in  the  house,  was  filled 
with  the  handsomest  of  them,  arranged  with  much  taste,  according  to 
his  own  fashion,  with  due  regard  to  size,  colour,  and  condition ;  and  he 
used  to  contemplate  these,  his  carefully  accumulated  and  much-prized 
treasures,  with  even  more  pleasure  and  pride  than  the  greatest  con- 
noisseur his  finest  specimens  of  the  old  masters. 

A  pretty  and  pathetic  poem  of  1818  tells  us  how 
dearly  he  loved  them. 

My  days  among  the  Dead  are  past  ; 

Around  me  I  behold, 
Where'er  these  casual  eyes  are  cast, 

The  mighty  minds  of  old  ; 
My  never-failing  friends  are  they, 
With  whom  I  converse  day  by  day. 

With  them  I  take  delight  in  weal, 

And  seek  relief  in  woe  ; 
And  while  I  understand  and  feel 

How  much  to  them  I  owe, 
My  cheeks  have  often  been  bedewed 
With  tears  of  thoughtful  gratitude. 

Greta  Hall,  which  had  rung  for  so  many  years  with 
the  merry  noise  of  children,  and  of  a  '  comical  papa,' 
himself  as  noisy,  grew  sad  and  silent  at  last.  Sara 
Coleridge  and  Edith  Southey  went  away  to  be  married, 
his  darling  children  Herbert  and  Isabel  died,  and  in  1834 
his  much-loved  wife  lost  her  reason,  and  died  the  next 
year.  The  poet  himself  lingered  on  till  1843,  when  he 
died,  and  was  buried  in  Crossthwaite  churchyard,  within 
sight  of  Greta  Hall. 

In  Carlyle's  'Beminiscences '  there  is  a  pleasant  sketch 
of  Southey  which  helps  us  to  realise  what  an  honest- 
hearted,  impulsive,  good  man  he  was. 


48o        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

SCOTT 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  like  Southey,  whom  he  resembled  in 
more  points  than  one,  left  a  fragment  of  autobiography, 
from  which  we  gather  some  interesting  memorials  of  his 
childhood  and  youth. 

He  was  born  in  1771,  in  the  '  Old  Town '  of  Edinburgh, 
and  was  a  healthy  child  till  the  age  of  eighteen  months, 
when  he  was  afflicted  with  lameness,  brought  on,  it  is 
thought,  through  teething.  For  his  health's  sake  he  was 
sent  away  to  his  grandfather's  pastoral  farm  at  Sandy- 
Knowe,  in  the  heart  of  the  Borderland  which  he  loved  so 
well,  and  within  a  few  miles  of  Melrose  and  Diyburgh. 

It  is  here,  at  Sandy-Knowe,  that  I  have  the  first  consciousness  of 
existence ;  and  I  recollect  distinctly  that  my  situation  and  appearance 
were  a  little  whimsical.  Among  the  odd  remedies  recurred  to  to  aid  my 
lameness,  some  one  had  recommended  that,  so  often  as  a  sheep  was 
killed  for  the  use  of  the  family,  I  should  be  stripped,  and  swathed  up  in 
the  skin,  warm  as  it  was  flayed  from  the  carcase  of  the  animal.  In  this 
Tartar-like  habiliment  I  well  remember  lying  upon  the  floor  of  the  little 
parlour  in  the  farmhouse,  while  my  grandfather,  a  venerable  old  man 
with  white  hair,  used  every  excitement  to  make  me  try  to  crawl. 

When  the  day  was  fine,  I  was  usually  carried  out  and  laid  down 
beside  the  old  shepherd,  among  the  crags  or  rocks  round  which  he  fed 
his  sheep.  The  impatience  of  a  child  soon  inclined  me  to  struggle  with 
my  infirmity,  and  I  began  by  degrees  to  stand,  to  walk,  and  to  run. 

When  he  was  nearly  four  years  old  he  was  taken 
by  his  aunt  Janet  to  Bath,  to  try  the  virtues  of  the 
waters,  and  there  he  remained  for  a  year,  and  among 
the  delights  which  he  recalls  was  that  of  a  visit  to  the 
theatre. 

The  play  was  '  As  You  Like  It '  ;  and  the  witchery  of  the  whole 
scene  is  alive  in  my  mind  at  this  moment.  I  made,  I  believe,  noise  more 


SCOTT  481 

than  enough,  and  remember  being  so  much  scandalised  at  the  quarrel 
between  Orlando  and  his  brother  in  the  first  scene,  that  I  screamed  out, 
'  A'n't  they  brothers  ?  ' 

A  few  years  later  he  entered  the  High  School  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  became  a  fair  Latin  scholar,  but  remained 
ignorant  even  of  the  rudiments  of  Greek.  Spenser  and 
Shakspere  were  his  favourite  authors,  and  when  Bishop 
Percy's  '  Eeliques  of  Ancient  Poetry '  appeared,  he 
devoured  them  eagerly,  sitting  hour  after  hour  through  a 
long  summer  day,  under  a  plane-tree  in  his  aunt's  garden. 

Kuskin,  in  several  chapters  of  the  '  Fors  Clavigera,' 
has  very  beautifully  described  the  pure  and  wholesome 
influences  which  surrounded  little  Walter  from  his  cradle 
onwards ;  and  as  the  boy  grew  up  to  be  a  youth,  he  won 
the  affection  of  all  he  came  in  contact  with. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  Scott  was  apprenticed  to  his 
father,  who  was  a  Writer  to  the  Signet,  and  in  1792  he 
was  called  to  the  bar.  In  '  Eedgauntlet,'  one  of  the  later 
novels,  he  has  drawn  his  father's  portrait  in  Saunders 
Fairford,  while  the  novelist  himself  is  Allan  Fairford  ; 
and  William  Clerk,  his  bosom  friend  in  those  early  years, 
is  described  in  Darsie  Latimer. 

In  the  novel  Saunders  Fairford  is  thus  described  : 

Punctual  as  the  clock  of  St.  Giles  tolled  nine,  the  dapper  form  of 
the  hale  old  gentleman  was  seen  at  the  threshold  of  the  court  hall, 
trimly  dressed  in  a  complete  suit  of  snuff-coloured  brown,  with  stockings 
of  silk  or  woollen,  as  suited  the  weather  ;  a  bob-wig  and  a  small  cocked 
hat ;  shoes  blacked  as  Warren  would  have  blacked  them ;  silver  shoe- 
buckles,  and  a  gold  stock-buckle.  His  manners  corresponded  with  his 
attire,  for  they  were  scrupulously  civil,  and  not  a  little  formal. 

The  whole  pleasure  of  this  good  old-fashioned  man  of  method,  besides 
that  which  he  really  felt  in  the  discharge  of  his  own  daily  business,  was 
the  hope  to  see  his  son  attain  what  in  the  father's  eyes  was  the  proudest 
of  all  distinctions,  the  rank  and  fame  of  a  well-employed  lawyer. 

I  I 


482       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

He  would  have  shuddered  at  his  son's  acquiring  the  renown  of  a 
hero,  and  laughed  with  scorn  at  the  equally  barren  laurels  of  literature ; 
it  was  by  the  path  of  the  law  alone  that  he  was  desirous  to  see  him  rise 
to  eminence ;  and  the  probabilities  of  success  or  disappointment  were 
the  thoughts  of  his  father  by  day,  and  his  dreams  by  night. 

The  good  man  died  in  1799,  while  his  son  was  still 
practising  as  a  lawyer,  and  only  coquetting  as  yet  with 
literature. 

One  of  his  father's  clients  was  an  old  Highland  chief- 
tain, Stewart  of  Invernahyle ;  and  Walter,  while  only  a 
youth  of  fifteen,  was  sent  on  a  visit  of  business  to  him, 
and  spent  several  weeks  among  the  scenes  which  he  was 
to  immortalise  in  *  The  Lady  of  the  Lake/  in  '  Waverley,' 
and  '  Rob  Roy.' 

He  records  the  wonder  and  admiration  with  which 
he  gazed  on  the  beauty  of  the  Vale  of  Perth  during  the 
course  of  this  journey  : 

I  recollect  pulling  up  the  reins,  without  meaning  to  do  so,  and  gazing 
on  the  scene  before  me  as  if  I  had  been  afraid  it  would  shift,  like  those 
in  a  theatre,  before  I  could  distinctly  observe  its  different  parts,  or  con- 
vince myself  that  what  I  saw  was  real. 

After  being  called  to  the  bar  in  1792  Scott  went  on  an 
excursion  into  Liddesdale,  a  wild  district  in  Roxburgh- 
shire, in  company  with  Mr.  Shortreed,  the  Sheriff-sub- 
stitute of  the  county.  So  well  was  he  pleased  that 
during  each  of  the  six  following  years  he  came  again 
with  Mr.  Shortreed  for  his  guide. 

There  was  no  inn  nor  public-house  of  any  kind  in  the  whole  valley ; 
the  travellers  passed  from  the  shepherd's  hut  to  the  minister's  manse, 
and  again  from  the  cheerful  hospitality  of  the  manse  to  the  rough  and 
jolly  welcome  of  the  homestead ;  gathering,  wherever  they  went,  songs 
and  tunes,  and  occasionally  more  tangible  relics  of  antiquity— even 
such  •  a  rowth  of  auld  knicknackets '  as  Burns  ascribes  to  Captain 
Grose. 


SCOTT 


483 


'  He  was  makin'  himsell  a'  the  time,'  said  Mr.  Shortreed ;  '  but  he 
didna  ken  maybe  what  he  was  about  till  years  had  passed.  At  first  he 
thought  o'  little,  I  dare  say,  but  the  queerness  and  the  fun.'  > 

It  was  during  these  excursions  that  he  gathered  the 
materials  for  his  work  on  'Border  Minstrelsy/  and  a 
journey  on  legal  business  into  Galloway,  in  1793,  intro- 
duced him  to  the  scenery  and  legends  which  he  wove 
into  the  story  of  '  Guy  Mannering.' 

About  this  time  he  studied  German  literature  with 
much  interest,  and  his  first  publication  was  a  transla- 
tion, in  1796,  of  some  of  Burger's  ballads,  and  in  1799 
he  translated  and  published  Goethe's  '  Goetz  von  Berli- 
chingen.' 

To  this  time  too  belongs  the  sore  agony  of  disappointed 
love  through  which  Scott  passed.  The  lady  whom  he 
loved — the  '  Lilias '  of  the '  Redgauntlet ' — was  married  to 
another,  and  Scott's  little  poem  of  *  The  Violet '  reveals 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart  at  the  time,  while  his  diary  of 
thirty  years  later  shows  that  the  wound  was  sore  even 
then. 

In  1797,  after  a  short  courtship,  he  married  a  lively, 
good-natured,  but  somewhat  superficial  young  lady — a 
Miss  Carpenter  or  Charpentier,  the  daughter  of  a  French 
refugee.  Scott  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  lady 
at  Gilsland  Wells,  a  little  watering-place  among  the 
lakes  of  Cumberland,  and  his  story  of  '  St.  Ronan's 
Well'  is  a  picture  of  the  society  that  was  gathered 
there. 

The  young  couple  took  a  house  in  Edinburgh,  and  a 
pretty  cottage  at  Lasswade,  about  six  miles  south  of  the 

1  Lockhart. 

i  i  2 


484       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

city ;  and  Scott  busied  himself  in  his  law  duties,  and  in 
collecting  old  ballads  and  composing  new  ones.  Of  the 
latter,  '  Glenfinlas '  and  '  The  Eve  of  St.  John '  are  two 
of  the  finest.  In  1799,  through  the  kindness  of  the 
Duke  of  Buccleuch,  Scott  was  appointed  Sheriff  of 
Selkirkshire  with  a  salary  of  300L  a  year.  He  was  by 
this  relieved  from  the  drudgery  of  an  uncongenial  profes- 
sion, and  was  linked  more  closely  to  the  land  of  the 
Ettrick  and  Yarrow  which  he  loved  so  well. 

In  1802  he  published  two  volumes  of  *  The  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Border,'  and  in  the  following  year  a  third, 
the  fruits  of  his  *  raids '  into  Liddesdale  and  elsewhere,  and 
of  his  communings  with  Leyden,  and  Ritson  and  Hogg, 
all  of  them  antiquarians  as  enthusiastic  as  himself.  The 
notes  and  introductions  are  extremely  interesting,  as 
pictures  of  a  state  of  society  long  passed  away. 

1  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,'  the  first  great 
original  work  of  Scott,  grew  naturally  out  of  his  labours 
on  the  *  Border  Minstrelsy.'  It  was  published  in  January 
1805,  but  the  poet  had  been  shaping  it  since  1802. 
Wordsworth  and  his  sister  paid  Scott  a  visit  at  Lasswade 
in  September  1803,  and  the  English  poet  has  recorded 
the  pleasure  with  which  he  listened  to  his  brother 
bard: 

He  partly  read  and  partly  recited,  sometimes  in  an  enthusiastic  kind 
of  chant,  the  first  four  cantos  of  '  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel '  ;  and 
the  novelty  of  the  manners,  the  clear  picturesque  descriptions,  and  the 
easy  glowing  energy  of  much  of  the  verse  greatly  delighted  me. 

The  beautiful  irregular  measures  of  the  '  Lay '  were 
inspired  by  those  of  Coleridge's  '  Christabel,'  a  poem  not 
published  then,  but  which  a  friend  had  recited  to  Scott. 


SCOTT  485 

It  is  only,  however,  now  and  then  that  Scott  attains  the 
faultless  music  of  '•  Christabel,'  and  in  general  he  contents 
himself  with  what  Euskin  describes  and  praises  as  the 
'  careless  glance  and  reckless  rhyme.' 

The  introductions  to  several  of  the  cantos  are  finer 
than  the '  Lay '  itself,  and  the  description  of  the  minstrel — 
of  Melrose  seen  by  moonlight — and  the  noble  invocation 
to  Caledonia  will  always  be  favourites. 

The  success  of  the  'Lay'  was  instantaneous,  and 
perhaps  was  the  greater  because  the  poetry  was  not  of 
the  very  highest  order.  The  genius  of  Wordsworth 
waited  during  many  years  for  recognition,  and  had  first 
to  create  an  audience  for  itself;  but  every  one  who 
possessed  taste  could  appreciate  the  beauty  of  Scott's 
verse. 

In  1808  '  Marmion '  appeared,  and  two  years  later 
'  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  The  former,  with  its  magni- 
ficent battle  scene,  is  perhaps  the  more  widely  popular  ; 
but  lovers  of  Wordsworth  will  probably  prefer  the  latter 
with  its  beautiful  pictures  of  wood  and  lake. 

During  the  next  few  years  '  Eokeby,'  '  The  Bridal 
of  Triermain,'  and  '  The  Lord  of  the  Isles  '  appeared, 
none  of  which  were  equal  in  merit  to  the  first  three  great 
poems ;  but  meanwhile  Scott  had  begun  the  wonderful 
series  of  the  '  Waver  ley  Novels.' 

As  early  as  1805  Scott  wrote  the  opening  chapters 
of  *  Waverley,'  and  showed  them  to  a  friend,  whose 
judgment  was  unfavourable,  whereupon  the  manuscript 
was  laid  aside  and  forgotten.  Eight  years  later  the 
fragment  came  to  light  again,  and  was  taken  in  hand 
and  completed. 


486       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

\ 

*  Waverley '   was    published    in    1814,    and    '  Guy 

Mannering,'  'The  Antiquary,'  'Old  Mortality,'  'Bob 
Koy,'  and  '  The  Heart  of  Midlothian '  followed  in  suc- 
cessive years.  These  magnificent  stories  were  the  finest 
expression  of  Scott's  genius,  and  on  them  his  fame  will 
rest  rather  than  on  his  poetry.  They  were  written  with 
khe  utmost  speed ;  but  the  materials  had  been  gathering 
for  years  in  Scott's  brain  during  his  excursions  into  the 
Highlands  and  through  the  Border  Country. ' 

Opinions  are  divided  as  to  their  real  value  regarded 
as  works  of  imagination.  Buskin  would  seem  to  rank 
Scott  only  a  little  lower  than  Shakspere  as  a  creator  of 
character ;  but  Carlyle  says,  '  Shakspere  fashions  his 
characters  from  the  heart  outwards :  Scott  fashions  them 
from  the  skin  inwards,  never  getting  near  the  heart 
of  them.  The  one  set  become  living  men  and  women ; 
the  other  amount  to  little  more  than  mechanical  cases, 
deceptively  painted  automatons.' 

But  to  ordinary  readers  no  characters  can  be  more 
real  and  lifelike  than  '  Dandie  Dinmont,' '  Jenny  Deans/ 
and  a  host  of  others,  and  Carlyle's  criticism  seems 
grudging  and  inadequate. 

The  success  of  the  poems  and  novels  caused  a  great 
change  in  Scott's  mode  of  life.  In  1804  the  pretty 
cottage  of  Lasswade  was  forsaken  for  Ashestiel,  a  house 
beautifully  situated  on  the  Tweed,  with  the  Yarrow  and 
Ettrick  and  Teviot,  and  all  the  scenery  of  '  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel '  close  at  hand. 

Then,  in  1811,  he  bought  for  4,OOOZ.  a  farm  of  100 
acres,  a  few  miles  lower  down  the  Tweed,  and  gave  it  the 
now  famous  name  of  Abbotsford.  He  removed  thither 


SCOTT  487 

in  May  1812,  and   in  a  letter  to  a  friend  he  gives  a 
humorous  description  of  the  flitting : 

The  neighbours  have  been  much  delighted  with  the  procession  of  my 
furniture,  in  which  old  swords,  bows,  targets,  and  lances  make  a  con- 
spicuous show.  A  family  of  turkeys  was  accommodated  within  the 
helmet  of  some  preux  chevalier  of  ancient  Border  fame ;  and  the  very 
cows,  for  aught  I  know,  were  bearing  banners  and  muskets. 

I  assure  your  ladyship  that  this  caravan,  attended  by  a  dozen  of 
ragged  rosy  peasant  children,  carrying  fishing-rods  and  spears,  and 
leading  ponies,  greyhounds,  and  spaniels,  would,  as  it  crossed  the 
Tweed,  have  furnished  no  bad  subject  for  the  pencil,  and  really 
reminded  me  of  one  of  the  gipsy  groups  of  Callot  upon  their  march. 

As  Scott's  wealth  increased,  he  bought  more  and 
more  land,  and  the  modest  house,  which  he  had  at  first 
intended,  grew  into  a  castle,  and  was  filled  with  all  that 
an  antiquarian  and  man  of  taste  could  wish  for.  The 
hospitality  he  dispensed  was  splendid,  and  princes  and 
poets  and  all  sorts  of  distinguished  persons  were 
numbered  among  his  guests. 

In  1817  Scott  suffered  a  severe  attack  of  illness. 
It  passed  off  quickly,  but  returned  again,  and  in  1819 
'  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor '  was  written  from  his 
dictation  while  he  lay  ill  in  bed,  and  after  his  recovery 
he  could  not  remember  any  single  incident  or  dialogue 
in  the  story. 

From  this  time  his  novels  show  declining  power, 
though  several  of  them,  such  as  '  Ivanhoe,'  '  Kenilworth,' 
'The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,'  '  Quentin  Durward,'  <Bed- 
gauntlet,'  and  '  Woodstock '  are  of  very  high  merit. 

-But  during  these  years  Scott  had  been  writing  too 
fast,  and  had  been  burdened  besides  with  heavy  cares. 
His  early  work,  '  The  Border  Minstrelsy,'  had  been  beau- 
tifully printed  by  an  old  schoolfellow,  James  Ballantyne, 


438       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

who  was  then  in  a  humble  position  in  Kelso.  Scott 
encouraged  him  to  come  with  his  brother  John  to  Edin- 
burgh, and  to  become  publishers  as  well  as  printers, 
and  Scott  himself  became  a  partner  in  1805.  Neither 
the  Ballantynes  nor  Scott  possessed  the  talents  required 
for  conducting  a  great  publishing  business,  and  financial 
ruin,  which  was  threatened  more  than  once,  came  finally 
in  1826,  and  Scott  found  himself  with  the  Ballantynes 
to  be  a  debtor  for  more  than  100,OOOL 

He  had  been  created  a  baronet  by  the  Prince  Regent 
in  1818,  and  he  hoped  to  found  a  family  at  Abbotsford, 
and  the  blow  to  his  pride  was  a  terrible  one.  But  he 
determined  to  work  himself  free,  and  during  the  next  five 
years  he  reduced  the  debt  by  one -half. 

It  was,  however,  a  time  of  intense  misery.  His  wife 
died  in  1826,  soon  after  his  bankruptcy,  and  his  own 
attacks  of  illness  became  more  frequent.  In  1831  the 
Government  placed  at  his  disposal  a  man-of-w^r  to  carry 
him  on  a  visit  to  Italy ;  but  he  could  not  rest  there,  and 
returned  in  1832  to  Abbotsford  to  die. 

As  we  descended  the  vale  of  the  Gala,  he  began  to  gaze  about  him, 
and  by  degrees  it  was  obvious  that  he  was  recognising  the  features  of 
that  familiar  landscape.  Presently  he  murmured  a  name  or  two— 
'  Gala  Water,  surely — Buckholm — Torwoodlee.'  As  we  rounded  the  hill 
at  Ladhope,  and  the  outline  of  the  Eildons  burst  on  him,  he  became 
greatly  excited,  and  when,  turning  himself  on  his  couch,  his  eye  caught 
at  length  his  own  towers,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  he  sprang  up  with 
a  cry  of  delight. 

The  sad  story  of  the  next  two  months  is  told  very 
beautifully  by  his  son-in-law  and  biographer,  Lockhart, 
and  in  September  the  end  came. 

About  half-past  one  P.M.,  on  September  21,  Sir  Walter  breathed  his 
last,  in  the  presence  of  all  his  children.  It  was  a  beautiful  day— so 


BYRON  489 

warm  that  every  window  was  wide  open — and  so  perfectly  still  that  the 
sound  of  all  others  most  delicious  to  his  ear,  the  gentle  ripple  of  the 
Tweed  over  its  pebbles,  was  distinctly  audible  as  we  knelt  around  the 
bed,  and  his  eldest  son  kissed  and  closed  his  eyes. 


BYRON 

WE  have  seen  that  Wordsworth,  Scott,  and  Southey,  in 
their  mature  age,  set  down  a  beautiful  record  of  the 
recollections  of  their  childhood  and  of  the  kindly  influ- 
ences under  which  they  grew  up.  Of  Byron  we  have  no 
such  record,  and  the  story  of  his  childhood,  as  far  as  we 
know  it,  is  an  unhappy  one. 

His  father,  Captain  Byron,  was  a  profligate  who 
married  not  for  love,  but  for  money,  and,  after  wasting 
his  wife's  fortune,  separated  from  her.  He  died  in  1791, 
when  the  little  boy  George,  their  only  child,  was  three 
years  old. 

His  mother  was  a  Miss  Gordon  of  Gight,  a  Highland 
heiress,  but  she  was  left  as  a  widow  with  a  pittance  of 
little  more  than  100Z.  a  year,  and  lived  in  retirement  in 
Aberdeen.  She  was  passionately  fond  of  her  child,  but 
was  capricious  and  violent  in  temper  ;  and,  though  the 
boy  loved  her,  he  could  not  respect  her.  The  boy  him- 
self was  very  beautiful  in  features,  but  was  deformed  in 
one  of  his  feet,  and  all  his  life  through  he  was  painfully 
sensible  of  this  defect. 

The  family  of  the  Byrons  was  a  very  ancient  one, 
and  at  that  time  its  head  was  William,  the  fifth  lord, 
who,  from  his  wild  life,  was  called  '  the  wicked  lord.'  In 
1794  his  grandson  died,  and  the  future  poet,  who  was 


490       HANDBOOK    OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

his  grand-nephew,  became  the  next  heir.  In  1798  the 
old  lord  died,  and  Byron  and  his  mother  bade  farewell  to 
Scotland,  and  took  possession  of  Newstead  Abbey.  Two 
years  later  he  went  to  Harrow,  and  formed  there  several 
enthusiastic  friendships,  and  made  his  first  essays  in 
verse. 

My  first  dash  into  poetry  (he  says)  was  as  early  as  1800.  It  was  the 
ebullition  of  a  passion  for  my  first  cousin,  Margaret  Parker,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  evanescent  beings.  I  have  long  forgotten  the  verses, 
but  it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  forget  her— her  dark  eyes,  her  long 
eyelashes— her  completely  Greek  cast  of  face  and  figure.  I  was  then 
about  twelve — she  rather  older,  perhaps  a  year.  She  died  about  a  year 
or  two  afterwards. 

A  few  years  later  the  youth  fell  in  love  with  another 
cousin,  Mary  Chaworth,  and  it  was  a  terrible  disappoint- 
ment to  him  when  she  was  married  to  another.  In  later 
years,  in  a  foreign  land,  he  wrote  with  many  tears  the 
poem  entitled  '  The  Dream,'  which  is  the  sad  story  of 
his  love : 

As  the  sweet  moon  on  the  horizon's  verge, 
The  maid  was  on  the  eve  of  womanhood  -, 
The  boy  had  fewer  summers,  but  his  heart 
Had  far  outgrown  his  years,  and  to  his  eye 
There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him  ;  he  had  looked 
Upon  it  till  it  could  not  pass  away ; 
He  had  no  breath,  no  being,  but  in  hers ; 
She  was  his  voice ;  he  did  not  speak  to  her, 
But  trembled  on  her  words ;  she  was  his  sight, 
For  his  eye  followed  hers,  and  saw  with  hers, 
Which  coloured  all  his  objects  ; — he  had  ceased 
To  live  within  himself ;  she  was  his  life, 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Which  terminated  all. 

In  1805  Byron  went  to  Cambridge,  and  two  years 
later  published  a  volume  of  poems  entitled  '  Hours  of 


BYRON 


491 


Idleness.'  None  of  the  poems  show  any  great  merit, 
though  Wordsworth  saw  in  them  a  promise  of  future 
excellence.  In  one  of  the  pleasantest  he  recalls  his 
childish  recollection  of  the  wild  Highland  scenery  : 

Years  have  roll'd  on,  Loch  na  Garr,  since  I  left  you. 

Years  must  elapse  ere  I  tread  you  again  : 
Nature  of  verdure  and  flow'rs  has  bereft  you, 

Yet  still  are  you  dearer  than  Albion's  plain. 
England !  thy  beauties  are  tame  and  domestic 

To  one  who  has  roved  on  the  mountains  afar : 
Oh,  for  the  crags  that  are  wild  and  majestic  ! 

The  steep  frowning  glories  of  dark  Loch  na  Garr  ! 

A  flippant  and  insulting  notice  of  the  poems  appeared 
in  the  *  Edinburgh  Eeview,'  and  stung  the  young  poet 
into  fury.  In  1809  he  responded  in  the  vigorous  satire, 
'English  Bards  and  Scotch  Keviewers/  written  in  "the 
style  of  Pope's  'Dunciad,'  but  with  far  inferior  power. 
He  strikes  out  wildly  against  Wordsworth,  Southey, 
Coleridge,  and  Scott,  and  many  others  of  less  note,  and 
he  compares  the  critic,  Lord  Jeffrey,  to  the  infamous 
judge  of  that  name. 

Health  to  immortal  Jeffrey !  once,  in  name, 
England  could  boast  a  judge  almost  the  same ; 
In  soul  so  like,  so  merciful,  yet  just ; 
Some  think  that  Satan  has  resign'd  his  trust, 
And  given  the  spirit  to  the  world  again, 
To  sentence  letters,  as  he  sentenced  men. 

But  a  few  years  later  he  was  ashamed  of  his  '  Satire,' 
and  did  his  best  to  suppress  it. 

It  was  written  (he  says)  when  I  was  very  young  and  very  angry,  and 
has  been  a  thorn  in  my  side  ever  since  ;  more  particularly  as  almost  all 
the  persons  animadverted  upon  became  subsequently  my  acquaintances, 
and  some  of  them  my  friends. 


492       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Immediately  after  the  publica/tion  of  the  '  Satire ' 
Byron  set  out  on  his  travels  to  the  East,  accompanied  by 
his  friend  Hobhouse,  and  by  one  or  two  servants.  He 
sailed  to  Lisbon,  visited  some  of  the  battlefields  of  Spain, 
then  went  on  to  Malta  and  Greece,  and  still  further  to 
Smyrna  and  Constantinople.  He  visited  Athens  both  in 
going  and  returning,  and  his  song  '  Maid  of  Athens '  is  a 
pleasant  memorial  of  his  sojourn  there. 

In  July  1811  he  was  back  in  England,  and  early  in 
1812  the  first  two  cantos  of  '  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage' 
were  published,  and  Byron  '  woke  one  morning  and  found 
himself  famous.'  These  fine  poems,  though  far  inferior 
to  some  of  his  later  works,  show  a  wonderful  advance  in 
power  over  '  Hours  of  Idleness,'  and  nothing  is  more  re- 
markable in  Byron's  career  than  the  rapidity  with  which 
his  mind  expanded,  until  there  was  no  living  English 
poet  who  could  compete  with  him  in  sublimity  and 
strength.  The  following  stanza  from  the  first  canto  of 
'  Childe  Harold '  forms  part  of  a  glowing  description  of 
the  battlefield  of  Talavera : 

Lo  !  where  the  giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
His  blood-red  tresses  deep'ning  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon ; 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  coAvers,  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done ; 
For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet, 
To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 

Byron  was  now  for  a  time  the  idol  of  London  society, 
and  he  astonished  and  delighted  the  world  with  a  suc- 
cession of  brilliant  metrical  romances, '  The  Giaour,'  'The 


BYRON  493 

Bride  of  Abydos,'  'The  Corsair,'  'Lara,'  'Siege  of 
Corinth/  and  'Parisina,'  all  of  them  dashed  off  with 
careless  haste,  and  all  containing  passages  of  great 
beauty.  Foremost  among  these  passages  may  be  placed 
the  comparison  in  '  The  Giaour '  of  the  present  state  of 
Greece  with  the  beauty  of  a  corpse  in  the  first  hours  of 
death. 

Such  is  the  aspect  of  this  shore  ; 

'Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more  ! 

So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 

We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there. 

Hers  is  the  loveliness  in  death, 

That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath  ; 

But  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom, 

That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  the  tomb, 

Expression's  last  receding  ray, 

A  gilded  halo  hovering  round  decay, 

The  farewell  beam  of  Feeling  past  away  ! 
Spark  of  that  flame,  perchance  of  heavenly  birth, 
Which  gleams,  but  warms  no  more  its  cherish'd  earth  ! 

Byron  now  made  acquaintance  with  all  the  leading 
men  of  letters,  and  became  the  warm  friend  of  several  of 
them.  His  intercourse  with  Scott  was  especially  cordial, 
and  no  mean  jealousy  came  in  to  mar  it,  though  the 
two  were  rivals  in  the  fields  of  romance.  '  I  gave  over 
writing  romances '  (says  Scott)  '  because  Byron  beat  me. 
He  hits  the  mark,  where  I  don't  even  pretend  to  fledge 
my  arrow.  He  has  access  to  a  stream  of  sentiment  un- 
known to  me.'  On  the  other  hand,  Byron  never  ceased  to 
admire  the  '  Author  of  Waverley,'  and  styled  him  the 
'  Wizard '  and  the  '  Ariosto  of  the  North.' 

In  January  1815  Byron  married  an  heiress,  Miss 
Milbanke,  and  the  marriage  proved  a  most  unfortunate 
one.  A  daughter  Ada  was  born  in  December,  and  in  the 


494       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

following  January  his  wife  separated  from  him  for  some 
cause  or  causes  which  have  never  been  explained.  But 
from  the  first  the  poet  had  melancholy  forebodings  of  the 
result,  and  on  the  marriage  day  the  image  of  his  cousin 
Mary  Chaworth  haunted  him. 

I  saw  him  stand 

Before  an  altar — with  a  gentle  bride ; 
Her  face  was  fair,  but  was  not  that  which  made 
The  Starlight  of  his  Boyhood. 
And  he  stood  calm  and  quiet,  and  he  spoke 
The  fitting  vows,  but  heard  not  his  own  words, 
And  all  things  reel'd  around  him.1 

Married  life  begun  under  such  auspices  was  not 
likely  to  be  completely  happy ;  and  Byron  was  subject  to 
violent  outbursts  of  passion,  and  his  way  of  life  was  wild 
and  irregular.  Still  the  year  had  its  joys  as  well  as 
sorrows,  and  there  are  many  evidences  that  Byron  felt 
sorely  wounded  by  the  separation.  The  world  which  had 
so  lately  worshipped  the  poet  now  turned  fiercely  against 
him,  and  in  April  1816  he  left  England  never  to  return 
again  in  life.  He  went  first  to  Brussels,  then  up  the 
Khine  and  through  Switzerland,  and  settled  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Geneva,  where  he  wrote  the  third  canto  of 
'Childe  Harold,'  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  his 
works. 

In  the  opening  stanzas  he  describes  the  bitterness  of 
heart  with  which  he  quitted  England : 

Once  more  upon  the  waters  !  yet  once  more, 
And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed 
That  knows  his  rider.    Welcome,  to  the  roar ! 
Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoe'er  it  lead  ! 

1    The  Dream.' 


BYRON  495 

Though  the  strain 'd  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 
And  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale, 
Still  must  I  on ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed, 
Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean's  foam  to  sail, 
Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail. 

Then,  a  few  stanzas  later,  comes  the  magnificent 
picture  of  the  Eve  of  Waterloo ;  then,  a  little  later,  the 
beautiful  song  of  the  Ehine, 

The  castled  crag  of  Drackenfels  ; 

and  then  the  description  of  Lake  Leman  with  its  many 
beauties  and  its  associations  with  Eousseau,  Voltaire,  and 
Gibbon : 

Clear,  placid  Leman  !  thy  contrasted  lake, 
With  the  wild  world  I  dwelt  in,  is  a  thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 
Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 
This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction  ;  once  I  loved 
Torn  Ocean's.roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  Sister's  voice  reproved, 
That  I  with  stern  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so  moved. 

A  few  months  later  he  wrote  'Manfred,'  the  best  of 
all  his  dramas  unless  we  except  '  Cain,'  and  one  which 
Goethe  praised  warmly.  There  are  passages  in  it  almost 
without  number  of  lovely  description,  while  tones  of 
remorse  and  despair  are  continually  recurring. 

Manfred.  She  was  like  me  in  lineaments —her  eyes, 
Her  hair,  her  features,  all,  to  the  very  tone 
Even  of  her  voice,  they  said,  were  like  to  mine ; 
But  soften'd  all,  and  temper'd  into  beauty ; 
She  had  the  same  lone  thoughts  and  wanderings, 
The  quest  of  hidden  knowledge,  and  a  mind 
To  comprehend  the  universe ;  nor  these 
Alone,  but  with  them  gentler  powers  than  mine, 


496       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Pity,  and  smiles,  and  tears— which  I  had  not ; 

And  tenderness— but  that  I  had  for  her  ; 

Humility— and  that  I  never  had. 

Her  faults  were  mine — her  virtues  were  her  own— 

I  loved  her,  and  destroyed  her  ! 

Witch.  With  thy  hand  ? 

Manfred.  Not  with  my  hand,  but  heart -which  broke  her  heart  - 

It  gazed  on  mine,  and  withered. 

'Manfred '  was  finished  early  in  1817  at  Venice,  and 
there  Byron  lived  for  the  next  two  years,  leading  a 
dissolute  life,  and  writing  the  fourth  canto  of  '  Childe 
Harold '  and  the  early  cantos  of  '  Don  Juan.' 

The  fourth  canto  of  '  Childe  Harold  *  is  not  more 
beautiful  than  the  third,  but  it  is  far  grander,  and  the 
magnificent  pictures  of  Venice  and  Eome  in  their  decay, 
of  Santa  Croce,  and  the  tombs  of  Petrarch  and  Tasso 
are  the  natural  outpourings  of  the  melancholy  spirit  of 
Byron,  while  the  noble  address  to  the  ocean  gives  a 
magnificent  finish  to  the  whole  poem. 

'  Don  Juan. '  is  the  last  great  work  of  Byron,  and  in 
some  respects  it  is  the  greatest  of  all.  In  his  earlier 
works  the  poet  himself,  with  his  indignant  sorrows,  has 
been  too  constantly  present  in  the  picture,  but  in  this 
poem  his  painting  is  thoroughly  objective.  The  earlier 
cantos  especially  contain  an  endless  variety,  and  excite 
a  never-failing  interest ;  and  critics  who  exclaimed  most 
bitterly  against  the  moral  tendency  of  the  work  were 
most  ready  to  acknowledge  its  unrivalled  power.  The 
great  Goethe  was  charmed  with  it,  and  said : 

'  Don  Juan  '  is  a  thoroughly  genial  work— misanthropical  to  the 
bitterest  savageness,  tender  to  the  most  exquisite  delicacy  of  sweet 
feelings  ;  and  when  we  once  understand  and  appreciate  the  author,  and 


BYRON  497 

make  up  our  minds  not  fretfully  and  vainly  to  wish  him  other  than 
he  is,  it  is  impossible  not  to  enjoy  what  he  chooses  to  pour  out  before 
us  with  such  unbounded  audacity — with  such  utter  recklessness. 

And  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  an  affectionate  tribute  to 
Byron's  memory,  says : 

Neither  '  Childe  Harold,'  nor  any  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Byron's 
earlier  tales,  contain  more  exquisite  morsels  of  poetry  than  are  to  be 
found  scattered  through  the  cantos  of  '  Don  Juan,'  amidst  verses  which 
the  author  appears  to  have  thrown  off,  with  an  effort  as  spontaneous  as 
that  of  a  tree  resigning  its  leaves  to  the  wind. 

The  most  beautiful  part  of  the  poem  is  the  story  in 
the  second  and  third  cantos  of  Haidee,  the  innocent 
maiden,  who  rescues  Juan  when  he  has  been  wrecked 
on  one  of  the  Cyclades,  and  is  lying  heavily  sleeping  and 
utterly  exhausted  in  a  cave  on  the  shore.  The  following 
stanzas  give  a  most  charming  picture  : 

And  down  the  cliff  the  island  virgin  came, 

And  near  the  cave  her  quick,  light  footsteps  drew, 
While  the  sun  smiled  on  her  with  his  first  flame, 

And  young  Aurora  kiss'd  her  lips  with  dew, 
Taking  her  for  a  sister  ;  just  the  same 

Mistake  you  would  have  made  on  seeing  the  two, 
Although  the  mortal,  quite  as  fresh  and  fair, 
Had  all  the  advantage,  too,  of  not  being  air. 
And  when  into  the  cavern  Haide~e  stepp'd 

All  timidly,  yet  rapidly,  she  saw 
That  like  an  infant  Juan  sweetly  slept ; 

And  then  she  stopp'd,  and  stood  as  if  in  awe, 
(For  sleep  is  awful),  and  on  tiptoe  crept 

And  wrapt  him  closer,  lest  the  air,  too  raw, 
Should  reach  his  blood,  then  o'er  him  still  as  death, 
Bent,  with  hush'd  lips,  that  drank  his  scarce-drawn  breath. 
For  still  he  lay,  and  on  his  thin  worn  cheek 

A  purple  hectic  play'd  like  dying  day 
On  the  snow-tops  of  distant  hills  ;  the  streak 

Of  sufferance  yet  upon  his  forehead  lay, 

KK 


498       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Where  the  blue  veins  look'd  shadowy,  shrunk,  and  weak  ; 

And  his  black  curls  were  dewy  with  the  spray, 
Which  weigh'd  upon  them  yet,  all  damp  and  salt, 
Mix'd  with  the  stony  vapours  of  the  vault. 

'Don  Juan'  was  never  completed.  The  sixteenth 
canto  is  imperfect,  and  the  fifteenth  ends  with  the  fol- 
lowing impressive  stanza  : 

Between  two  worlds  life  hovers  like  a  star, 

'Twixt  night  and  morn,  upon  the  horizon's  verge. 

How  little  do  we  know  that  which  we  are  ! 
How  less  what  we  may  be !     The  eternal  surge 

Of  time  and  tide  rolls  on,  and  bears  afar 
Our  bubbles  ;  as  the  old  burst,  new  emerge, 

Lash'd  from  the  foam  of  ages ;  while  the  graves 

Of  empires  heave  but  like  some  passing  waves. 

This  was  written  in  1823,  and  within  a  year  the 
poet's  life  was  ended.  Byron  had  ever  been  an  ardent 
lover  of  liberty,  had  grieved  over  the  fall  of  Napoleon 
and  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  had  plotted  with  revo- 
lutionists in  Italy,  and  now  he  cast  in  his  lot  with  the 
Greeks  who  were  striving  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  Turkey. 

In  July  1823  he  sailed  for  Greece,  and  after  spend- 
ing some  time  in  the  Ionian  Islands  he  landed  at  Mis- 
solonghi  in  January  1824.  Within  a  month  he  was 
seized  with  illness,  and  on  April  19  he  died,  amidst  the 
universal  grief  of  those  whom  he  came  to  save. 


SHELLEY 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY,  even  more  than  Byron,  was  a 
child  of  the  revolutionary  age,  and  inherited  its  deep 
discontent  with  the  settled  order  of  things,  and  its 


SHELLEY 


499 


passionate  yearning  after  a  new  era  of  liberty.  Like 
Byron,  too,  he  was  cut  off  at  an  early  age  while  his  genius 
was  still  immature,  and  the  works  he  has  left  are  symbols 
of  more  excellent  ones  which  might  have  been  expected 
had  he  lived  longer. 

He  was  born  in  August  1792,  and  belonged  to  a 
wealthy  family  in  Sussex.  At  the  age  of  ten  he  was  sent 
to  a  private  school  at  Brentford,  and  a  little  later  to 
Eton.  He  was  a  dreamy,  enthusiastic  boy,  who  took 
little  share  in  school  sports,  and  was  passionately  fond 
of  reading  and  of  experimental  science 

In  1810  he  went  to  Oxford  and  formed  a  warm  friend- 
ship with  Thomas  Jefferson  Hogg,  a  fellow- student,  who 
afterwards  wrote  an  interesting  life  of  the  poet. 

His  features  (Hogg  tells  us),  his  whole  face,  and  particularly  his 
head,  were  unusually  small ;  yet  the  last  appeared  of  a  remarkable  bulk, 
for  his  hair  was  long  and  bushy,  and  in  fits  of  absence,  and  in  the 
agonies  (if  I  may  use  the  word)  of  anxious  thought  he  often  rubbed  it 
fiercely  with  his  hands,  or  passed  his  fingers  quickly  through  his  locks 
unconsciously,  so  that  it  was  singularly  wild  and  rough. 

His  features  were  not  symmetrical  (the  mouth  perhaps  excepted), 
yet  was  the  effect  of  the  whole  extremely  powerful.  They  breathed  an 
animation,  a  fire,  an  enthusiasm,  a  vivid  and  preternatural  intelligence, 
that  I  never  met  with  in  any  other  countenance. 

Shelley's  favourite  study  at  Oxford  was  philosophy, 
and  his  favourite  authors  were  Hume  and  the  atheistical 
philosophers  of  France,  and  he  himself  composed  a  tiny 
pamphlet  with  the  title,  '  The  Necessity  of  Atheism.' 
The  pamphlet  was  brought  before  the  notice  of  the 
college  authorities,  and  in  March  1811  Shelley  and  his 
friend  Hogg  were  expelled  from  the  university. 

He    now  spent  some  restless,   uneasy  months    in 

K  K  2 


5oo       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

London,  and  at  first  his  father  refused  him  any  support, 
but  afterwards  allowed  him  200Z.  a  year.  He  paid  fre- 
quent visits  to  his  sisters,  who  were  at  a  school  in  Clap- 
ham,  fell  in  love  with  Harriet  Westbrook,  one  of  their 
school-fellows,  and  in  August  ran  off  with  her  to  Scotland, 
and  was  there  married. 

After  staying  a  while  in  Edinburgh  the  young  couple 
went  to  York,  where  Hogg  was  settled ;  then  to  Keswick, 
where  Shelley  gained  the  acquaintance  of  Southey ;  tlu-n 
they  crossed  to  Dublin,  where  Shelley  strove  to  rouse 
the  Irish  on  the  subject  of  Catholic  Emancipation;  and 
then,  a  few  months  later,  they  left  Ireland  and  settled  in 
Wales. 

In  1813  Shelley's  first  considerable  poem,  *  Queen 
Mab,'  was  printed  and  was  distributed  privately  among 
his  friends.  The  poem  has  beautifully  melodious  pas- 
sages, but  the  thoughts  are  immature,  and  the  notes  are 
crammed  with  Shelley's  crude  atheistical  notions.  A 
pirated  edition  was  soon  issued,  but  Shelley  regretted 
that  it  was  ever  published. 

From  Wales  Shelley  came  to  London,  and  in  June 
1813  his  first  child  lanthe  was  born.  But  from  this 
time  a  coldness  began  between  the  husband  and  wife, 
and  in  1814  they  parted  by  mutual  consent.  Shelley 
almost  immediately  formed  a  new  connection  with  Mary 
Godwin,  the  accomplished  daughter  of  a  philosophical 
writer  whose  books  Shelley  greatly  admired.  The  couple 
paid  a  visit  to  France  and  Switzerland,  and  on  their 
return  they  settled  near  Windsor  Forest,  and  there 
Shelley  composed  his  first  great  poem,  '  Alastor.'  The 
opening  lines  of  the  poem  are  very  beautiful. 


SHELLEY  501 

Earth,  ocean,  air,  beloved  brotherhood  ! 

If  our  great  mother  have  imbued  my  soul 

With  aught  of  natural  piety  to  feel 

Your  love,  and  recompense  the  boon  with  mine 

If  dewy  morn,  and  odorous  noon,  and  even, 

With  sunset  and  its  gorgeous  ministers, 

And  solemn  midnight's  tingling  silentness ; 

If  autumn's  hollow  sighs  in  the  sere  wood, 

And  winter  robing  with  pure  snow,  and  crowns 

Of  starry  ice,  the  grey  grass  and  bare  boughs ; 

If  spring's  voluptuous  pantings  when  she  breathes 

Her  first  sweet  kisses,  have  been  dear  to  me  ; 

If  no  bright  bird,  insect,  or  gentle  beast, 

I  consciously  have  injured,  but  still  loved 

And  cherished  these  my  brethren ;  then  forgive 

This  boast,  beloved  brethren,  and  withdraw 

No  portion  of  your  wonted  favour  now  ! 

We  are  told  that  doctors  had  declared  Shelley  at  this 
time  to  be  dying  rapidly  of  consumption,  and  the  poem 
is  filled  with  a  pensive  melancholy.  The  story  is  of  a 
youthful  poet  who  wanders  over  all  the  earth  and  dies 
at  last  alone. 

There  was  a  poet  whose  untimely  tomb 
No  human  hands  with  pious  reverence  reared, 
But  the  charmed  eddies  of  autumnal  winds 
Built  o'er  his  mouldering  bones  a  pyramid 
Of  mouldering  leaves  in  the  waste  wilderness  ; 
A  lovely  youth — no  mourning  maiden  decked 
With  weeping  flowers,  or  votive  cypress  wreath, 
The  lone  couch  of  his  everlasting  sleep ; 
Gentle,  and  brave,  and  generous,  no  lorn  bard 
Breathed  o'er  his  dark  fate  one  melodious  sigh. 
He  lived,  he  died,  he  sang  in  solitude. 
Strangers  have  wept  to  hear  his  passionate  notes, 
And  virgins,  as  unknown  he  passed,  have  pined, 
And  wasted  for  fond  love  of  his  wild  eyes. 
The  fire  of  those  soft  orbs  has  ceased  to  burn, 
And  Silence  too,  enamoured  of  that  voice, 
Locks  its  mute  music  in  her  rugged  cell. 


5o2       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

A  little  later  in  the  poem  we  are  told  how  the  poet 
wanders  through  the  ruined  temples  of  the  East,  and 
spells  out  their  mysteries. 

Meanwhile  an  Arab  maiden  brought  his  food, 

Her  daily  portion,  from  her  father's  tent, 

And  spread  her  matting  for  his  couch,  and  stole 

From  duties  and  repose  to  tend  his  steps  ; 

Enamoured,  yet  not  daring  for  deep  awe 

To  speak  her  love  :  and  watched  his  nightly  sleep, 

Sleepless  herself,  to  gaze  upon  his  lips 

Parted  in  slumber,  whence  the  regular  breath 

Of  innocent  dreams  arose  ;  then,  when  red  morn 

Made  paler  the  pale  moon,  to  her  cold  home, 

Wildered,  and  wan,  and  panting,  she  returned. 

We  have  only  to  compare  this  figure  of  the  Arab 
maiden  with  Haidee  in  '  Don  Juan  '  to  feel  the  immense 
superiority  of  the  latter.  And  indeed  we  may  say  of 
nearly  all  Shelley's  poetry  that  it  is  very  beautiful,  but 
with  the  beauty  of  cloudland  or  dreamland  ;  it  is  filled 
with  sweet  sounds  and  lovely  images,  but  has  only  a 
faint  trace  of  the  human  interest  which  is  so  strong  in 
the  poetry  of  Burns  and  Byron. 

In  1816  Shelley  and  Mary  Godwin  went  again  to 
Switzerland,  and  spent  some  months  with  Lord  Byron  on 
the  shores  of  Lake  Geneva,  and  Shelley's  influence  may 
probably  be  traced  in  the  etherial  tones  that  pervade 
the  third  canto  of  '  Childe  Harold.' 

In  the  autumn  they  returned  to  England,  and  Shelley 
received  the  news  that  his  wife,  from  whom  he  had  parted 
two  years  before,  had  committed  suicide.  The  sad  news 
filled  him  with  remorse,  but  he  nevertheless  married 
Mary  Godwin  a  few  months  later.  He  sought  to  gain 
possession  of  his  two  children,  but  they  were  made  wards 


SHELLEY  503 

in  Chancery,  and  their  custody  was  denied  him,  on  the 
double  grounds  of  the  atheism  in  '  Queen  Mab  '  and  of 
his  conduct  to  the  children's  mother. 

The  summer  months  of  1817  were  spent  at  Mario w 
in  Buckinghamshire,  and  here  Shelley  wrote  '  Laon 
and  Cythna ;  or,  the  Kevolt  of  Islam,'  a  poem  in  twelve 
cantos  in  the  stanza  of  Spenser.  The  poet  calls  it  '  a 
vision  of  the  nineteenth  century,'  and  he  pictures  in  it 

the  awakening  of  an  immense  nation  from  their  slavery  and  degra- 
dation to  a  true  sense  of  moral  dignity  and  freedom  ;  the  bloodless 
dethronement  of  their  oppressors,  and  the  unveiling  of  the  religious 
frauds  by  which  they  had  been  deluded  into  submission  ;  the  tranquillity 
of  successful  patriotism,  and  the  universal  toleration  and  benevolence  of 
true  philanthropy. 

The  following  lines  are  from  the  fifth  canto,  and  are 
part  of  a  glowing  address  by  the  heroine  to  the  assembled 
multitudes  : 

My  brethren,  we  are  free  !  the  plains  and  mountains, 
The  gray  sea-shore,  the  forests  and  the  fountains, 
Are  haunts  of  happiest  dwellers  ;— man  and  woman, 
Their  common  bondage  burst,  may  freely  borrow 
From  lawless  love  a  solace  for  their  sorrow ; 
For  oft  we  still  must  weep,  since  we  are  human. 
A  stormy  night's  serenest  morrow, 
Whose  showers  are  pity's  gentle  tears, 
Whose  clouds  are  smiles  of  those  that  die 
Like  infants  without  hopes  or  fears, 
And  whose  beams  are  joys  that  lie 
In  blended  hearts,  now  holds  dominion  ; 
The  dawn  of  mind,  which  upwards  on  a  pinion 
Borne,  swift  as  sunrise,  far  illumines  space, 
And  clasps  this  barren  world  in  its  own  bright  embrace. 

My  brethren,  we  are  free  !  the  fruits  are  glowing 
Beneath  the  stars,  and  the  night  winds  are  flowing 


504        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

O'er  the  ripe  corn,  the  birds  and  beasts  are  dreaming — 

Never  again  may  blood  of  bird  or  beast 

Stain  with  its  venomous  stream  a  human  feast, 

To  the  pure  skies  in  accusation  steaming. 

Avenging  poisons  shall  have  ceased 

To  feed  disease  and  fear  and  madness, 

The  dwellers  of  the  earth  and  air 

Shall  throng  around  our  steps  in  gladness, 

Seeking  their  food  or  refuge  there. 
Our  toil  from  thought  all  glorious  forms  shall  cull, 
To  make  this  Earth,  our  home,  more  beautiful, 
And  Science,  and  her  sister  Poesy 
Shall  clothe  in  light  the  fields  and  cities  of  the  free  I 

In  1818  the  Shelleys  left  England  and  the  poet  never 
returned.  They  went  to  Italy  and  visited  the  chief 
Italian  cities,  and  finally  settled  at  Pisa.  At  Venice  they 
found  Lord  Byron,  who  read  to  them  the  first  canto  of 
*  Don  Juan,' while  Shelley's  poem  of '  Julian  and  Maddalo ' 
gives  an  interesting  picture  of  the  friendly  communings 
of  the  two  poets. 

In  1819  Shelley  produced  his  two  greatest  works, '  The 
Cenci '  and  the  '  Prometheus  Unbound.'  Of  these  two 
great  dramas  the  former  is  the  story  of  a  hideous  Italian 
tragedy  which  occurred  in  1599,  the  memory  of  which  is 
preserved  in  legal  records,  and  in  Guido's  beautiful  por- 
trait of  Beatrice  Cenci  at  Rome.  Of  all  Shelley's  works 
this  is  the  most  popular,  and  in  it  he  attains  a  realistic 
vividness  which  is  not  found  in  his  other  works. 

In  the  following  lines  the  wicked  Count  Cenci  reveals 
his  fiendish  nature : 

When  I  was  young  I  thought  of  nothing  else 
But  pleasure  ;  and  I  fed  on  honey  sweets ; 
Men,  by  St.  Thomas  !  cannot  live  like  bees, 
And  I  grew  tired:— yet,  till  I  killed  a  foe, 


SHELLEY  505 

And  heard  his  groans,  and  heard  his  children's  groans, 

Knew  I  not  what  delight  was  else  on  earth, 

Which  now  delights  me  little.     I  the  rather 

Look  on  such  pangs  as  terror  ill  conceals  — 

The  dry,  fixed  eyeball ;  the  pale,  quivering  lip, 

Which  tell  me  that  the  spirit  weeps  within 

Tears  bitterer  than  the  bloody  sweat  of  Christ. 

I  rarely  kill  the  body,  which  preserves, 

Like  a  strong  prison,  the  soul  within  my  power, 

Wherein  I  feed  it  with  the  breath  of  fear 

For  hourly  pain. 

And  when  he  is  exulting  in  the  deaths  of  his  sons  and 
the  ruin  of  his  daughter,  he  exclaims  : 

When  all  is  done,  out  in  the  wide  Campagna 
I  will  pile  up  my  silver  and  my  gold  ; 
My  costly  robes,  paintings  and  tapestries  ; 
My  parchments,  and  all  records  of  my  wealth, 
And  make  a  bonfire  in  my  joy,  and  leave 
Of  my  possessions  nothing  but  my  name  ; 
Which  shall  be  an  inheritance  to  strip 
Its  wearer  bare  as  infamy. 

And  Beatrice,  poor  hapless  girl !  after  her  father's 
murder,  when  she  is  condemned  to  die,  cries  in  her  first 

agony : 

» 

My  God  !  can  it  be  possible  I  have 
To  die  so  suddenly  ?     So  young  to  go 
Under  the  obscure,  cold,  rotting,  wormy  ground ; 
To  be  nailed  down  into  a  narrow  place  ; 
To  see  no  more  sweet  sunshine ;  hear  no  more 
Blithe  voice  of  living  thing ;  muse  not  again 
Upon  familiar  thoughts,  sad,  yet  thus  lost- 
How  fearful !  to  be  nothing  !     Or  to  be  ... 
What  ?     0,  where  am  I  ?     Let  me  not  go  mad  ! 
Sweet  Heaven,  forgive  weak  thoughts  !     If  there  should  be 
No  God,  no  Heaven,  no  Earth  in  the  void  world ; 
The  wide,  grey,  lampless,  deep,  unpeopled  world  1 


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If  all  things  then  should  be  ...  my  father's  spirit, 
His  eye,  his  voice,  his  touch  surrounding  me  ; 
The  atmosphere  and  breath  of  my  dead  life  ! 
If  sometimes,  as  a  shape  more  like  himself, 
Even  the  form  which  tortured  me  on  earth, 
Masked  in  grey  hairs  and  wrinkles,  he  should  come 
And  wind  me  in  his  hellish  arms,  and  fix 
His  eyes  on  mine,  and  drag  me  down,  down,  down  ! 

But  she  soon  grows  calmer,  and  cheers  her  step- 
mother as  they  go  together  to  execution : 

Here,  mother,  tie 

My  girdle  for  me,  and  bind  up  this  hair 
In  any  simple  knot ;  aye,  that  does  well. 
And  yours,  I  see,  is  coining  down.    How  often 
Have  we  not  done  this  for  one  another ;  now 
We  shall  not  do  it  any  more.     My  Lord, 
We  are  quite  ready.     Well,  'tis  very  well. 

Of  '  Prometheus   Unbound '   we   have   no  space  to 
speak  except  to  say  it  contains  some  of  Shelley's  finest 
lyrics,  especially  the  one  beginning- 
Life  of  Life  !  thy  lips  enkindle 
With  their  love  the  breath  between  them. 

It  abounds,  too,  in  beautiful  descriptive  passages, 
among  which  may  be  mentioned  the  speech  of  Prome- 
theus with  which  the  drama  opens,  and  his  speech  in 
the  third  act,  describing  the  happy  place  where  he  and 
Asia  will  dwell  together. 

In  1820  Shelley  wrote  the  well-known  'Ode  to  a  Sky- 
lark,' <  The  Sensitive  Plant,'  '  The  Witch  of  Atlas,'  and 
other  poems.  In  1821  he  wrote  '  Epipsychidion,'  a 
beautiful  but  very  enigmatical  poem,  and  also  'Adonais,' 
the  eloquent  lament  over  the  death  of  Keats. 


SHELLEY  507 

Peace,  peace !  he  is  not  dead,  he  doth  not  sleep, 
He  hath  awakened  from  the  dream  of  life — 
'Tis  we,  who,  lost  in  stormy  visions,  keep 
With  phantoms  an  unprofitable  strife, 
And  in  mad  trance,  strike  with  our  spirit's  knife 
Invulnerable  nothings.     We  decay 
Like  corpses  in  a  charnel ;  fear  and  grief 
Convulse  us,  and  consume  us  day  by  day, 
And  cold  hopes  swarm  like  worms  within  our  living  clay. 

He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night ; 
Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again  ; 
From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain 
He  is  secure,  and  now  can  never  mourn 
A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  grey  in  vain ; 
Nor,  when  the  spirit's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn. 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature ;  there  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder,  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird ; 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own ; 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never-wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above. 

In  the   preface  to  '  Adonais '   Shelley   describes  the 
burial-place  of  Keats  at  Rome  : 

The  romantic  and  lovely  cemetery  of  the  Protestants  in  that  city, 
under  the  pyramid  which  is  the  tomb  of  Cestius,  and  the  massive  walls 
and  towers,  now  mouldering  and  desolate,  which  formed  the  circuit  of 
ancient  Home.  The  cemetery  is  an  open  space  among  the  ruins,  covered 
in  winter  with  violets  and  daisies.  It  might  make  one  in  love  with 
death  to  think  that  one  should  be  buried  in  so  sweet  a  place. 

To  this  quiet  resting-place  Shelley's  ashes  were  brought 
in  tlie  next  year,  1822.  He  had  come  to  Pisa  to  welcome 


5o8       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

his  old  friend  Leigh  Hunt,  and  was  returning  in  a  small 
coasting  vessel,  when  a  terrible  thunderstorm  came  on 
and  the  boat  was  wrecked.  A  week  later  the  poet's  body 
was  found,  and  was  burnt  upon  the  shore  in  the  presence 
of  Byron,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  others.  The  ashes  were 
taken  to  Kome,  and  the  poet's  heart  was  brought  to 
England. 


CARLYLE 

THOMAS  CARLYLE  has  exercised  in  the  nineteenth  century 
the  same  kind  of  influence  that  Johnson  did  in  the 
eighteenth,  but  a  wider  and  deeper  one.  As  Johnson 
was  surrounded  by  Burke,  and  Goldsmith,  and  Eeynolds, 
and  others  who  loved  and  reverenced  him,  so  Carlyle 
had  his  circle  of  admirers — Ruskin,  and  Browning,  and 
Emerson,  and  Dickens,  and  others,  not  to  speak  of  the 
hundreds  and  thousands  who  never  saw  him,  but  whose 
enthusiasm  for  learning  was  first  kindled  by  his  wise 
and  earnest  words. 

He  was  born  in  the  little  village  of  Ecclefechan  in 
Dumfriesshire,  in  December  1795,  a  few  months  before 
Eobert  Burns  passed  away.  His  father,  James  Carlyle, 
was  a  mason  and  peasant  farmer,  a  man  of  little  educa- 
tion, but  of  remarkable  natural  endowments  and  force  of 
character.  His  son's  love  and  reverence  for  him  find  a 
very  beautiful  expression  in  the  '  Memoir  of  James 
Carlyle'  which  forms  the  first  part  of  the  *  Reminiscences.' 

Thomas  was  sent  at  the  age  of  nine  to  the  Annan 
Grammar  School,  and  in  1809  he  went  to  the  Edinburgh 


CARL  YLE  509 

University,  trudging  over  the  eighty  miles  of  hill  and 
dale  with  a  single  companion. 

A  charming  secluded  shepherd  country,  with  excellent  shepherd 
population,  nowhere  setting  up  to  be  picturesque,  but  everywhere  honest, 
comely,  well  done-to,  peaceable,  and  useful. 

No  company  to  you  but  the  rustle  of  the  grass  underfoot,  the  tinkling 
of  the  brook,  or  the  voices  of  innocent  primeval  things.  You  had  the 
world  and  its  waste  imbroglios  of  joy  and  woe,  of  light  and  darkness  to 
yourself  alone.  You  could  strip  barefoot  if  it  suited  better,  carry  shoes 
and  socks  over  shoulder,  hung  on  your  stick  ;  clean  shirt  and  comb 
were  in  your  pocket ;  omnia  mea  mecum  porto.  You  lodged  with 
shepherds  who  had  clean  solid  cottages  ;  wholesome  eggs,  milk,  oat 
bread,  porridge,  clean  blankets  to  their  beds,  and  a  great  deal  of  human 
sense  and  unadulterated  natural  politeness. 

Carlyle  was  sent  to  the  university  that  he  might  be 
trained  for  the  ministry ;  but  he  felt,  year  by  year,  less 
inclination  for  that  vocation,  and  in  1817  he  finally 
determined  against  it.  Meanwhile  he  had  been  engaged 
in  teaching  first  in  Edinburgh,  then  in  his  old  school  at 
Annan,  and  in  1816  at  Kirkcaldy,  where  Edward  Irving 
also  was  a  teacher.  The  friendship  between  the  two 
youths  made  the  next  few  years  a  pleasant  time,  and  in 
Carlyle's  '  Keminiscences  of  Irving '  there  are  delightful 
records  of  excursions  and  friendly  communings. 

Such  colloquies,  and  such  rovings  about  in  bright  scenes,  in  talk  or 
in  silence,  I  have  never  had  since. 

The  beach  of  Kirkcaldy  in  summer  twilights,  a  mile  of  the  smoothest 
sand,  with  one  long  wave  coming  on  gently,  steadily,  and  breaking  in 
gradual  explosion  into  harmless  melodious  white,  at  your  hand  all  the 
way ;  the  break  of  it,  rushing  along  like  a  mane  of  foam,  beautifully 
sounding  and  advancing,  ran  from  south  to  north,  from  the  West  Burn 
to  Kirkcaldy  harbour,  through  the  whole  mile's  distance.  This  was  a 
favourite  scene,  beautiful  to  me  still,  in  the  far  away.  We  roved  in  the 
woods  too,  sometimes  till  all  was  dark. 


510       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

After  a  while  Irving  went  away  to  be  assistant 
minister  to  Dr.  Chalmers  at  Glasgow,  and  from  thence  to 
London  to  win  immense  popularity  as  a  preacher,  and 
to  end  his  life  in  sadness  and  disappointment  in  1834. 
But  the  friendship  remained  warm  and  true  to  the  end, 
and  Carlyle  gave  passionate  vent  to  his  grief  in  a  short 
paper  in  1835  on  the  '  Death  of  Edward  Irving.' 

In  1818  Carlyle  left  Kirkcaldy  and  abandoned  the 
profession  of  teacher,  and  the  next  few  years  were 
rendered  miserable  by  ill-health  and  mental  distress. 
He  roamed  over  the  moors  of  Dumfriesshire  and  the 
streets  of  Edinburgh,  almost  distracted  at  times,  and  he 
has  painted  the  gloom  of  this  period  in '  Sartor  Kesartus,' 
in  the  chapters  on  the  '  Sorrows  of  Teufelsdrockh,'  and 
on  the  '  Everlasting  No.' 

The  heart  within  me,  unvisited  by  any  heavenly  dewdrop,  was 
smouldering  in  sulphurous,  slow-consuming  fire.  Almost  since  earliest 
memory  I  had  shed  no  tear ;  or  once  only,  when  I,  murmuring  half 
audibly,  recited  Faust's  Death  Song — that  wild  Sclig  der  den  er  im 
Siegesglanze  findet  (Happy  whom  he  finds  in  battle's  splendour)— and 
thought  that  of  this  last  friend  even  I  was  not  forsaken,  that  Destiny 
itself  could  not  doom  me  not  to  die. 

Eeligious  doubts  were  among  Carlyle's  bitterest 
sorrows,  and  in  this  respect  he  differed  widely  from 
Irving,  whose  faith  was  simple  and  fervent  and  unques- 
tioning. At  the  end  of  one  of  their  summer  excursions, 
when  they  were  on  the  point  of  parting,  Carlyle  tells  us  : 

We  leant  our  backs  to  a  dry  stone  fence,  and,  looking  into  the 
western  radiance,  continued  in  talk  yet  a  while,  loth  both  of  us  to  go. 
It  was  just  here,  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  Irving  actually  drew  from  me 
by  degrees,  in  the  softest  manner,  the  confession  that  I  did  not  think  as 
he  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  that  it  was  vain  for  me  to  expect  I 
ever  could  or  should.  This,  if  this  was  so,  he  had  pre-engaged  to  take 


CARLYLE  5II 

well  of  me,  like  an  elder  brother,  if  I  would  be  frank  with  him.  And 
right  loyally  he  did  so,  and  to  the  end  of  his  life  we  needed  no  conceal- 
ment on  that  head. 

In  '  Sartor  Kesartus,'  after  the  chapter  on  the  '  Ever- 
lasting No,'  there  soon  follows  that  on  the  '  Everlasting 
Yea,'  and  we  feel  that  Carlyle  has  done  battle  with  his 
doubts,  and  has  silenced  them  if  not  quelled  them. 

To  me  nothing  seems  more  natural  than  that  the  Son  of  Man — when 
such  God-given  mandate  first  prophetically  stirs  within  him,  and  the 
Clay  must  now  be  vanquished  or  vanquish— should  be  carried  of  the 
spirit  into  grim  Solitudes,  and  there,  fronting  the  Tempter,  do -grimmest 
battle  with  him  ;  defiantly  setting  him  at  naught,  till  he  yield  and  fly. 

Name  it  as  we  choose  :  with  or  without  visible  Devil,  whether  in  the 
natural  Desert  of  rocks  and  sands,  or  in  the  populous  moral  Desert  of 
selfishness  and  baseness,  to  such  Temptation  are  we  all  called.  Our 
wilderness  is  the  wide  world  in  an  Atheistic  Century  ;  our  Forty  Days  are 
long  years  of  suffering  and  fasting  ;  nevertheless,  to  these  also  comes  an 
end.  Yes,  to  me  also  was  given,  if  not  Victory,  yet  the  consciousness  of 
Battle,  and  the  resolve  to  persevere  therein  while  life  or  faculty  is  left. 
To  me,  also,  entangled  in  the  enchanted  forests,  demon  peopled,  doleful 
of  sight  and  of  sound,  it  was  given,  after  weariest  wanderings,  to  work 
out  my  way  into  the  higher  sunlit  slopes  of  that  Mountain  which  has 
no  summit,  or  whose  summit  is  in  Heaven  only. 

The  study  of  German  literature,  especially  of  Goethe, 
helped  to  bring  calmness  and  strength  to  Carlyle's  rest- 
less spirit,  and  his  two  earliest  works  of  consequence 
were  the  *  Life  of  Schiller  '  and  the  translation  of  Goethe's 
'  Wilhelm  Meister.' 

In  1824  he  paid  a  visit  to  Irving  in  London,  and 
there  is  a  pleasant  record  of  the  visit  in  the  '  Kemini- 
scences.'  Irving  was  at  the  height  of  his  own  success, 
and  was  buoyant  and  encouraging. 

'  You  will  see  now,'  he  would  say  ;  '  one  day  we  two  will  shake  hands 
across  the  brook,  you  as  first  in  literature,  I  as  first  in  divinity,  and 
people  will  say,  "  Both  these  fellows  are  from  Annandale.  Where  is 
Annandale?  " 


5i2        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

It  was  now  that  he  paid  the  visits  to  Coleridge  which 
enabled  him  many  years  later  to  draw  the  famous 
picture  in  the  *  Life  of  Sterling.' 

In  November  Carlyle  paid  a  short  visit  to  Paris  with 
two  of  Irving' s  friends,  and  saw,  with  the  keen  eyes  which 
missed  nothing  and  forgot  nothing,  the  scenery  of  the 
great  drama  of  the  Kevolution.  Next  year  he  was  back 
in  Scotland,  and  was  busy  with  his  translations  of 
'  German  Komance.' 

In  1826  he  married  Miss  Jane  Welsh,  the  daughter 
of  Dr.  Welsh  of  Haddington,  a  lady  whom  he  had  known 
since  1821,  and  who  had  been  the  brightest  and  best  of 
Irving' s  pupils. 

No  married  life  with  its  joys  and  sorrows  is  better 
known  to  us  than  theirs.  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  herself  a 
woman  of  genius,  and  the  collection  of  her  letters  gives 
the  brightest  and  wittiest  picture  of  their  life  after  they 
came  to  London. 

The  young  couple  settled  first  at  Comley  Bank,  near 
Edinburgh,  and  Carlyle  gained  the  friendship  of  the 
great  Jeffrey,  and  began  to  write  for  the  '  Edinburgh 
Eeview  '  the  series  of  his  well-known  articles,  '  Jean 
Paul,'  '  Goethe,' '  Heyne,' '  Burns,'  and  others.  In  1828 
they  moved  to  Craigenputtock,  a  lonely  farmhouse 
among  the  hills  of  Dumfriesshire,  where  they  lived  for 
six  years.  Carlyle  continued  to  write  articles  for  the 
*  Edinburgh'  and  the  'Foreign  Keview,'  and  other 
periodicals,  and  in  this  hilly  solitude  he  meditated  and 
wrote  his  great  work,  *  Sartor  Eesartus.' 

The  most  interesting  part  of  this  work  is  Part  II., 
which  is  in  a  sense  autobiographical,  and,  under  other 


CARLYLE  513 

names,  Ecclefechan,  and  Annan,  and  James  Carlyle,  and 
other  places  and  persons  can  be  recognised.  The  follow- 
ing extract  gives  a  pleasant  picture,  which  may  be  com- 
pared with  that  of  the  lame  little  Walter  Scott  lying 
among  the  tufts  of  heather  at  Smailholm. 

On  fine  evenings  I  was  wont  to  carry  forth  my  supper,  and  eat  it 
out  of  doors.  On  the  coping  of  the  orchard  wall,  which  I  could  reach 
by  climbing,  my  porringer  was  placed :  there,  many  a  sunset,  have  I, 
looking  at  the  distant  western  mountains,  consumed,  not  without  relish, 
my  evening  meal.  Those  lines  of  gold  and  azure,  that  hush  of  world's 
expectation  as  Day  died,  were  still  a  Hebrew  speech  for  me  ;  neverthe- 
less, I  was  looking  at  the  fair  illuminated  Letters,  and  had  an  eye  for 
their  gilding. 

The  beautiful  maiden  Blumine,  who  is  mentioned 
in  later  chapters,  is  said  to  have  been  a  Miss  Margaret 
Gordon,  a  Highland  lady,  poor  and  proud,  but  beautiful 
and  good.  She  also  had  been  one  of  Irving's  pupils, 
and  some  letters  of  hers  to  Carlyle,  gentle  and  wise  in 
tone,  have  been  preserved.  In  later  years  they  met,  but 
as  strangers,  in  London,  '  on  horseback  both  of  us,  and 
meeting  in  the  gate  of  Hyde  Park,  when  her  eyes  (but 
that  was  all)  said  to  me  almost  touchingly,  "  Yes,  yes, 
that  is  you." 

The  solitude  of  Craigenputtock  was  especially  weari- 
some to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  but  it  was  relieved  occasionally  by 
the  visits  of  Jeffrey,  of  Carlyle's  father,  and  in  1833  by 
a  most  delightful  one  of  the  American  Emerson. 

I  found  the  house  (he  tells  us)  amid  desolate  heathery  hills,  where 
the  lonely  scholar  nourished  his  mighty  heart.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt, 
with  a  cliff-like  brow,  self-possessed,  and  holding  his  extraordinary 
powers  of  conversation  in  easy  command ;  clinging  to  his  northern 
accent  with  evident  relish  ;  full  of  lively  anecdote,  and  with  a  streaming 

LL 


514       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

humour,  which  floated  everything  he  looked  upon.  He  was  already 
turning  his  eyes  towards  London  with  a  scholar's  appreciation. 
London  is  the  heart  of  the  world,  he  said,  wonderful  only  from  the  mass 
of  human  beings.  He  liked  the  huge  machine. 

To  London  they  came  the  next  year,  and  settled  in 
Cheyne  Kow,  in  the  house  which  was  to  be  Carlyle's  for 
nearly  fifty  years  to  come.  Here,  during  the  next  two 
years,  he  wrote  his  great  prose  poem,  the  '  History  of 
the  French  Revolution,'  perhaps  the  most  perfect  of  all 
his  works.  The  subject  had  long  been  deeply  interesting 
to  him,  and  he  had  already  touched  it  in  preliminary 
sketches  in  his  articles  on  *  Voltaire,'  '  Diderot,'  and  the 
'  Diamond  Necklace.'  In  the  latter  work  there  is  a 
most  pathetic  picture  of  the  death  of  Marie  Antoinette 
which  may  rival  Burke' s  impassioned  outburst  of 
eloquence. 

John  Stuart  Mill  was  at  this  time  one  of  Carlyle's 
most  devoted  admirers,  and  gathered  books  for  him 
treating  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  handed  over  to 
him  materials  which  he  had  himself  collected  for  a  work 
on  the  subject. 

When  the  first  volume  was  finished,  it  was  lent  in 
manuscript  to  Mill,  and  was  destroyed  through  the  care- 
lessness of  a  servant.  Poor  Mill  was  in  despair,  and 
Carlyle  himself  scarcely  less  so ;  but  after  infinite  trouble 
the  volume  was  re-written,  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  thought  it 
had  gained  in  concentrated  force  through  the  terrible 
ordeal  of  its  birth. 

The  work  was  finished  at  last,  and  was  such  a  history 
as  had  seldom  or  never  been  written.  It  is  with  rising 
tears  and  quickened  pulses  that  we  read  many  of  the 


CARLYLE  515 

chapters,  and  we  feel  that  Carlyle  has  the  poet's  vision 
and  inspiration  as  well  as  the  historian's  knowledge 
and  research.  We  have  space  for  one  extract  only— 
that  of  the  death-bed  of  Louis  XV. 

Yes,  poor  Louis,  Death  hath  found  thee.  No  palace  walls  or  life- 
guards, gorgeous  tapestries  or  gilt  buckram  of  stiffest  ceremonial  could 
keep  him  out;  but  he  is  here,  here  at  the  very  life-breath,  and  will 
extinguish  it.  Thou,  whose  whole  existence  hitherto  was  a  chimera 
and  scenic  show,  at  length  becomest  a  reality;  sumptuous  Versailles 
bursts  asunder,  like  a  dream,  into  void  Immensity  ;  Time  is  done,  and 
all  the  scaffolding  of  Time  falls  wrecked  with  hideous  clangour  round 
thy  soul :  the  pale  kingdoms  yawn  open  ;  there  must  thou  enter,  naked, 
all  unking'd,  and  await  what  is  appointed  thee  !  Unhappy  man,  there 
as  thou  turnest,  in  dull  agony,  on  thy  bed  of  weariness,  what  a 
thought  is  thine  !  Purgatory  and  Hell-fire,  now,  all  too  possible,  in  the 
prospect :  in  the  retrospect, —  alas  !  what  thing  didst  thou  do  that  were 
not  better  undone ;  what  mortal  didst  thou  generously  help ;  what 
sorrow  hadst  thou  mercy  on  ? 

Frightful,  O  Louis,  seem  these  moments  for  thee.  We  will  pry  no 
further  into  the  horrors  of  a  sinner's  death-bed. 


We  must  hasten  over  the  remainder  of  Carlyle's  life, 
though  it  is  a  period  of  forty  years.  His  writings  as 
yet  brought  him  in  little  money,  and  they  made  their  way 
more  rapidly  in  America  than  in  England.  Emerson 
was  his  enthusiastic  friend,  and  urged  him  to  come  to 
America  to  lecture,  and  Harriet  Martineau  and  others 
urged  him  to  do  the  same  at  home. 

It  was  a  task  which  he  dreaded  above  all  things,  but 
he  gathered  himself  together  and  did  it  well.  His  first 
course  began  on  May  1,  1837,  and  the  subject,  '  German 
Literature,'  was  one  he  knew  well. 

In  May  1838  another  course  followed,  and  another 
in  1839,  and  in  May  1840  there  came  the  final  course, 

1,1.2 


516       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  *  Lectures  on  Heroes,'  which  alone  he  thought  worthy 
of  republication. 

In  1839  he  addressed  himself  to  what  he  called  the 
'  Condition  of  England  Question/  in  the  remarkable 
work  entitled  '  Chartism,'  and  in  1843  returned  to  it 
in  *  Past  and  Present,'  and  once  more,  in  '  Latter  Day 
Pamphlets,'  in  1850. 

The  '  Lectures  on  Heroes '  had  set  him  thinking 
seriously  on  Cromwell,  and  in  1845  he  finished  the 
*  Letters  and  Speeches,'  which  some  reckon  as  his 
masterpiece.  It  is  certainly  a  work  of  excellent  merit, 
and  has  wonderfully  life-like  little  pictures  of  the  buried 
seventeenth  century. 

In  1851  he  dashed  off  the  beautiful  sketch  of  John 
Sterling's  life,  and  then  set  himself  to  what  proved  a  long 
and  weary  task,  the  '  History  of  Friedrich  II.  of  Prussia.' 
He  read  books  innumerable,  he  visited  Germany  and 
travelled  over  Friedrich's  battle-fields,  and  laboured 
incessantly  at  the  work,  though  it  often  wearied  and 
disgusted  him. 

At  the  end  of  1864  it  was  finished  and  was  well 
received  in  England,  and  better  still  in  America. 
Emerson  enthusiastically  declared  that 

Friedrich  was  the  wittiest  book  that  was  ever  written  ;  a  book  that  one 
would  think  the  English  people  would  rise  up  in  mass  and  thank  the 
author  for  by  cordial  acclamation,  and  signify,  by  crowning  him  with 
oak  leaves,  their  joy  that  such  a  head  existed  among  them. 

In  1866  he  accepted  the  invitation  to  be  Lord  Eector 
of  the  Edinburgh  University,  and  many  men  now  living 
remember  his  speech  as  the  grandest  they  ever  listened 
to.  While  resting  peacefully  with  his  relations  in 


CARLYLE  5I7 

Dumfries,  during  the  next  few  days,  he  received  news  of 
his  wife's  sudden  death,  and  '  the  light  of  his  life  was 
gone  out.' 

In  the  years  that  still  remained  to  him  of  life,  his 
chief  literary  work  was  the  arranging  his  wife's  letters 
for  publication,  and  in  writing  her  memoir,  and  that  of 
his  and  her  early  friend,  Edward  Irving. 

He  was  surrounded  by  friends  who  loved  and  honoured 
him ;  but  life  was  a  weary  burden,  and  he  passed  away 
in  February  1881. 


DICKENS  AND  THACKERAY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S  last  great  novel  was  published  in 
1826,  and  he  himself  passed  away  in  1832.  Meanwhile, 
there  were  growing  up  to  manhood  two  youths  who 
were  to  rival  him  in  power,  though  in  style  they  re- 
sembled not  him,  but  rather  Smollett  and  Fielding. 

Of  the  two,  Dickens  was  the  younger  by  a  year,  but 
his  genius  shone  out  earlier,  for  '  Pickwick  '  was  published 
in  1836,  while  Thackeray's  '  Vanity  Fair '  came  ten 
years  later.  From  that  time  onward  for  nearly  twenty 
years  the  two  great  writers  worked  in  friendly  emula- 
tion, and  Dickens  wrote  a  touching  tribute  of  praise 
when  Thackeray  suddenly  died  in  1863. 

Dickens  was  born  in  1812,  at  Portsea,  and  his  father 
was  a  clerk  in  Portsmouth  Dockyard.  When  Charles 
was  two  years  old  the  family  removed  to  London,  then 
two  years  later  to  Chatham,  then  to  London  again  when 
he  was  nine  years  old.  Then  began  for  the  little  boy 
the  years  of  sordid  misery  which  are  faithfully  related 


5i8        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

in  several  chapters  of  *  David  Copperfield.'  For  the 
Mr.  Micawber  of  that  story  is  no  other  than  Dickens's 
own  father,  who,  after  struggling  in  vain  with  money 
difficulties,  was  carried  away  to  prison,  telling  the  broken- 
hearted boy  '  that  the  sun  was  set  upon  him  forever.' 

Then  he  describes  his  first  visit  to  his  father  in 
prison  in  the  very  words  of  '  David  Copperfield.' 

My  father  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  lodge,  and  we  went  up  to  his 
room  (on  the  top  story  but  one),  and  cried  very  much.  And  he  told  me, 
I  remember,  to  take  warning  by  the  Marshalsea,  and  to  observe  that  if 
a  man  had  twenty  pounds  a  year,  and  spent  nineteen  pounds  nineteen 
shillings  and  sixpence,  he  would  be  happy ;  but  that  a  shilling  spent  the 
other  way  would  make  him  wretched. 

The  boy  himself  was  sent  to  work  at  a  blacking  ware- 
house in  the  Strand,  and  felt  very  wretched  and  forlorn. 

It  is  wonderful  to  me  how  I  could  have  been  so  easily  cast  away  at 
such  an  age.  It  is  wonderful  to  me  that,  even  after  my  descent  into 
the  poor  little  drudge  I  had  been  since  we  came  to  London,  no  one  had 
compassion  enough  on  me— a  child  of  singular  abilities,  quick,  eager, 
delicate,  and  soon  hurt,  bodily  or  mentally — to  suggest  that  something 
might  have  been  spared,  as  certainly  it'might  have  been,  to  place  me  at 
any  common  school. 

The  miseries  of  that  time  he  could  never  forget,  and 
many  years  later  he  writes  : 

Even  now,  famous  and  caressed  and  happy,  I  often  forget  in  my 
dreams  that  I  have  a  dear  wife  and  children ;  even  that  I  am  a  man  ; 
and  wander  desolately  back  to  that  time  of  my  life. 

But  brighter  days  were  coming.  His  father  was  re- 
leased from  prison  and  became  a  newspaper  reporter. 
Charles  was  after  a  time  taken  from  the  blacking  manu- 
factory, and  sent  to  a  school  in  the  Hampstead  Eoad ; 
then,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  became  an  attorney's 
clerk;  and  a  little  later,  like  his  father,  he  became  a 


DICKENS  AND   THACKERAY  519 

reporter,  first  in  the  law  courts,  and  afterwards  in  the 
gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

His  first  essay  in  fiction  was  the  amusing  sketch  of 
'  Mr.  Minns  and  his  Cousin,'  which  was  published  in 
the  '  Old  Monthly  Magazine  '  in  1833,  and  Dickens  tells 
us  how  great  was  his  delight  to  see  himself  in  print. 

I  walked  down  to  Westminster  Hall,  and  turned  into  it  for  half  an 
hour,  because  my  eyes  were  so  dimmed  with  joy  and  pride  that  they 
could  not  bear  the  street,  and  were  not  fit  to  be  seen  there. 

Other  sketches  followed,  both  in  this  magazine  and 
in  the  l  Evening  Chronicle  ' ;  and  in  1836  these  scattered 
papers  were  collected  into  two  volumes  entitled  '  Sketches 
by  Boz,'  and  were  published  with  illustrations  by  Cruik- 
shank. 

The  same  year  the  immortal  '  Pickwick  '  began  to 
appear  in  shilling  monthly  numbers,  and  soon  attained 
an  immense  popularity.  Old  and  young,  high  and  low, 
were  delighted  with  its  overflowing  fun  and  its  droll 
characters,  and  it  is  still  perhaps  the  most  widely  read 
of  all  Dickens' s  books. 

While  '  Pickwick '  was  still  appearing  '  Oliver  Twist ' 
was  begun,  and  both  that  story  and  '  Nicholas  Nickleby ' 
appeared  during  1838-9.  Then,  in  1840,  'The  Old 
Curiosity  Shop '  appeared,  with  its  sweetly  pathetic  story 
of  Little  Nell,  and  '  Barnaby  Eudge  '  followed  in  the  next 
year. 

In  all  of  these  novels  Dickens  displays  a  wonderful  fer- 
tility of  invention.  Fielding' s  characters  can  be  numbered 
by  the  dozen,  but  here  they  are  in  hundreds,  and  most  of 
them  possess  a  very  high  degree  of  freshness  and  origi- 
nality. Sam  Weller,  in  particular,  is  as  wonderful  a 


520       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

creation  as  Shakspere's  Falstaff.  Many  of  the  characters 
are,  however,  exaggerated  and  unreal ;  but,  while  the  story 
is  one  of  broad  comedy,  this  seems  natural  enough.  Some 
of  the  villains,  such  as  Quilp  in '  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop,' 
and  Dennis  in  '  Barnaby  Rudge,'  are  grotesque  rather 
than  horrible ;  but  Fagin  and  Bill  Sikes  are  powerful 
and  lifelike  studies  of  evil  natures.  In  his  pictures  of 
children  in  their  joys  and  sorrows  Dickens  is  always 
beautiful  and  true,  and  it  is  this  which  gives  so  great  a 
charm  to  '  Oliver  Twist '  and  '  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop.' 

In  1842  Dickens  visited  America,  and  on  his  return 
wrote  'Martin  Chuzzlewit.'  This  novel  was  not  so 
popular  as  its  predecessors,  and  in  America  it  caused 
much  offence  by  its  unflattering  descriptions ;  but  the 
character  of  Pecksniff  is  a  wonderful  creation,  and  Euth 
and  Tom  Pinch  are  delightful. 

In  1844  Dickens  went  to  Italy,  and  the  next  few 
years  he  spent  chiefly  in  Genoa  and  Lausanne  and 
Paris.  Before  starting,  he  wrote  the  first  of  his  Christ- 
mas books,  the  'Christmas  Carol,'  and  with  it  delighted 
the  hearts  of  all  good  men.  'Who  can  listen,'  said 
Thackeray, '  to  objections  regarding  such  a  book  as  this  ? 
It  seems  to  me  a  national  benefit,  and,  to  every  man  or 
woman  who  reads  it,  a  personal  kindness.' 

His  next  great  work  was  '  Dombey  and  Son,'  which 
was  meant  as  a  rebuke  to  pride,  as  '  Martin  Chuzzlewit ' 
had  been  to  hypocrisy.  The  picture  of  little  Paul 
Dombey  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  the  description  of 
his  death  is  no  less  affecting  than  that  of  Little  Nell. 

'Now  lay  me  down,'  he  said  ;  'and  Floy,  come  close  to  me,  and  let 
me  see  you.' 


DICKENS  AND   THACKERAY 


521 


Sister  and  brother  wound  their  arms  around  each  other,  and  the 
golden  light  oame  streaming  in,  and  fell  upon  them,  locked  together. 

'  How  fast  the  river  runs,  between  its  green  banks  and  the  rushes, 
Floy  !  But  it  is  very  near  the  sea.  I  hear  the  waves  ;  they  always 
said  so.' 

The  golden  ripple  on  the  wall  came  back  again,  and  nothing  else 
stirred  in,  the  room.  The  old,  old  fashion  !  The  fashion  that  came 
in  with  our  first  garments,  and  will  last  unchanged  until  our  race  has 
run  its  course,  and  the  wide  firmament  is  rolled  up  like  a  scroll.  The 
old,  old  fashion — Death  ! 

Oh,  thank  God,  all  who  see  it,  for  that  older  fashion  yet,  of  Immor- 
tality !  And  look  upon  us  angels  of  young  children,  with  regards  not 
quite  estranged,  when  the  swift  river  bears  us  to  the  ocean. 

In  1849  ( David  CopperfielcT  was  written,  and,  two 
years  later,  '  Bleak  House  '  and  '  Hard  Times.'  Dickens 
then  went  once  more  on  the  Continent,  and  for  three 
years  spent  most  of  his  time  in  Boulogne  and  Paris. 
'Little  Dorrit '  was  written  in  1855,  and  the  'Tale  of 
Two  Cities '  in  1857.  This  last  book  is  the  fruit  of  his 
sojourn  in  Paris,  and  is  a  picture  of  the  stormy  times  of 
the  Kevolution. 

It  has  been  one  of  my  hopes  (he  says)  to  add  something  to  the 
popular  and  picturesque  means  of  understanding  that  terrible  time, 
though  no  one  can  hope  to  add  anything  to  the  philosophy  of  Mr. 
Carlyle's  wonderful  book. 

With  the  exception  of  '  Barnaby  Kudge,'  this  is  the 
only  instance  of  Dickens  making  an  incursion  into  the 
domain  of  history,  and  here  his  success  falls  far  short  of 
that  of  Thackeray  and  Scott.  His  great  and  peculiar 
strength  lay  in  the  delineation  of  life  as  it  passed  around 
him,  and  especially  of  the  crowd  of  whimsical  characters 
that  were  to  be  met  with  in  the  great  London  which  he 
knew  so  well. 

In  1858  Dickens  began  his  series  of  public  readings 


522       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

from  his  works,  and  continued  them  nearly  till  the  time 
of  his  death.  He  was  received  everywhere  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm,  and  the  lectures  were  a  great  finan- 
cial success ;  but  the  fatigue  and  excitement  were  most 
injurious,  and  certainly  hastened  his  death.  In  1867  he 
crossed  once  more  to  America  to  give  a  course  of  readings, 
and  he  gave  a  final  course  in  England  after  his  return  in 
1868. 

His  last  novels  were  *  Great  Expectations '  in  1860, 
'  Our  Mutual  Friend  '  in  1864,  and  «  The  Mystery  01 
Edwin  Drood,'  which  was  left  unfinished.  The  fragment 
is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  shows  little  or  no  decay  of 
power,  either  in  the  sketching  of  the  persons  and  places, 
or  in  the  management  of  the  plot,  so  far  as  it  is  un- 
folded. 

On  the  9th  of  June  1870  he  died. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray  was  born  in  1811 
in  Calcutta,  where  his  father  was  in  the  Civil  Service. 
He  was  sent  home  when  a  child  to  be  educated  in  Eng- 
land, and  in  one  of  his  lectures  he  recalls  the  time. 

When  I  first  saw  England  she  was  in  mourning  for  the  young 
Princess  Charlotte,  the  hope  of  the  empire.  I  came  from  India  as  a 
child,  and  our  ship  touched  at  an  island  on  the  way  home,  where  my 
black  servant  took  me  a  walk  over  rocks  and  hills  till  we  passed  a 
garden  where  we  saw  a  man  walking.  '  That  is  he,'  said  the  black  man  ; 
'  that  is  Bonaparte ;  he  eats  three  sheep  every  day,  and  all  the  children 
on  whom  he  can  lay  hands.'  There  were  people  in  the  British  dominions, 
besides  that  poor  black,  who  had  an  equal  terror  and  horror  of  the 
Corsican  ogre. 

Thackeray  was  sent  to  the  Charterhouse,  the  school 
of  Steele  and  Addison,  and  the  genius  of  the  place  may 
have  helped  to  kindle  his  love  for  these  two  writers.  He 


DICKENS  AND   THACKERAY  523 

often  refers  to  his  old  school  in  his  writings,  and  it 
is  the  Grey  Friars  where  Colonel  Newcome  ends  his 
days. 

In  1829  he  went  to  Cambridge,  but  remained  only  a 
year,  and  then  he  spent  some  time  on  the  Continent,  at 
Weimar,  where  he  saw  the  great  Goethe,  and  at  Paris, 
where  he  studied  as  an  artist.  He  always  retained  his 
love  for  art,  and  his  works  abound  with  descriptions  of 
the  merry  vagabond  life  of  artists.  He  never  himself 
became  a  master,  but  he  illustrated  some  of  his  own 
writings,  and,  though  the  drawing  is  defective,  the  humour 
is  often  exquisite. 

In  1832  he  was  back  in  England,  and  came  into  pos- 
session of  his  fortune,  but  lost  it  all  within  a  year  or  two 
in  newspaper  speculations.  Then  he  became  a  writer 
for  the  newspapers  and  magazines,  and  Carlyle  makes 
mention,  in  1837,  of  an  enthusiastic  review  of  the  '  French 
Eevolution '  which  appeared  in  the  '  Times.' 

The  writer  is  one  Thackeray,  a  half -monstrous  Cornish  giant,  kind 
of  painter,  Cambridge  man,  and  Paris  newspaper  correspondent,  who  is 
now  writing  for  his  life  in  London.  His  article  is  rather  like  him,  and 
I  suppose  calculated  to  do  the  book  good. 

About  the  same  time  he  began  a  series  of  sketches 
and  stories  in  '  Fraser's  Magazine,'  and  they  were  con- 
tinued during  the  next  six  or  seven  years.  The  series 
opened  with  the  '  Memoirs  of  Jeames  Yellowplush,'  and 
'  The  History  of  the  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond  '  and  the 
*  Memoirs  of  Barry  Lyndon  '  were  among  the  stories 
which  followed. 

In  the  '  Memoirs  of  Yellowplush  '  Thackeray  adopted 
the  device  of  the  comically  inaccurate  spelling  which 


524        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Smollett  had  used  in  '  Humphrey  Clinker,'  and  in  his 
hands  it  becomes  still  more  amusing. 

These  stories  in  '  Fraser '  are  full  of  wit  and  comic 
touches,  but  there  is  a  tone  of  sadness  and  bitterness 
running  through  them.  The  story  of  '  Mr.  Deuceace  at 
Paris  '  is  as  terrible  as  one  of  Balzac's,  and  the  l  Poor 
thing !  Poor  thing ! '  with  which  it  ends,  comes  from 
the  writer's  heart. 

Thackeray  had  his  own  private  griefs,  which  reflected 
themselves  in  his  writings.  He  married  in  1837 ;  but  in 
a  few  years  his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  deeply  attached,  lost 
her  reason,  and  he  was  left  without  the  comforts  of  a 
home.  Vanita-s  vanitatum — bright  hopes,  bitter  disappoint- 
ments— is  the  sermon  which  he  never  tires  of  preaching. 
He  was  a  cynic,  but  one  of  the  most  genial  and  compas- 
sionate, with  the  keenest  eye  for  the  folly  and  meanness 
of  human  nature,  but  with  a  heart  full  of  sympathy  for 
its  weakness. 

After  his  death  a  friend  wrote  of  him : 

He  was  a  cynic !     By  his  life  all  wrought 

Of  generous  acts,  mild  words,  and  gentle  ways ; 

His  heart  wide  open  to  all  kindly  thought, 

His  hand  so  quick  to  give,  his  tongue  to  praise. 

He  was  a  cynic  !     You  might  read  it  writ 

In  that  broad  brow,  crowned  with  its  silver  hair ; 

In  those  blue  eyes,  with  childlike  candour  lit, 
In  that  sweet  smile  his  lips  were  wont  to  wear. 

About  1840,  or  a  little  later,  Thackeray  joined  the  staff 
of  '  Punch,'  and  continued  to  be  a  contributor  for  ten 
years  or  more. 

In  '  Punch '  his  amusing  *  Snob  Papers  '  appeared, 
and  in  his  introductory  chapter  he  tells  us  : 


DICKENS  AND   THACKERAY  525 

I  have  (and  for  this  gift  I  congratulate  myself  with  a  Deep  and 
Abiding  Thankfulness)  an  eye  for  a  Snob.  If  the  Truthful  is  the 
Beautiful,  it  is  Beautiful  to  study  even  the  Snobbish ;  to  track  Snobs 
through  history,  as  certain  little  dogs  in  Hampshire  hunt  out  truffles ; 
to  sink  shafts  in  Society,  and  come  upon  rich  veins  of  Snob- ore.  Snob- 
bishness is  like  Death  in  a  quotation  from  Horace,  which  I  hope  you 
never  have  heard,  '  beating  with  equal  foot  at  poor  men's  doors,  and 
kicking  at  the  gates  of  Emperors.'  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  judge  of 
Snobs  lightly ,..and  think  they  exist  among  the  lower  classes  merely.  An 
immense  percentage  of  Snobs,  I  believe,  is  to  be  found  in  every  rank  of 
this  mortal  life.  You  must  not  judge  hastily  or  vulgarly  of  Snobs  ;  to 
do  so  shows  that  you  are  yourself  a  Snob.  I  myself  have  been  taken 
for  one. 

Then  follow  the  chapters  on  Military  Snobs,  Clerical 
Snobs,  Snobs  in  the  Country,  Snobs  in  Town,  and  Snobs 
everywhere.  The  account  of  Major  Ponto  and  Mrs.  Ponto 
is  a  most  amusing  picture  of  some  Country  Snobs. 

In  1846  '  Vanity  Fair  '  began  to  come  out  in  monthly 
numbers,  and  Thackeray  was  now  to  take  rank  with 
Dickens  as  a  great  master  in  fiction.  The  work  is  a 
wonderful  mingling  of  pathos  and  satire,  of  grave  and 
gay,  and,  among  the  host  of  characters  which  fill  it, 
Becky  Sharp  and  Colonel  Dobbin  stand  out  as  two  of 
the  finest  creations  in  the  language. 

We  are  told  that,  after  he  began  to  write  the  novel,  he 
could  not  think  of  a  suitable  name,  till  at  last  it  flashed 
upon  him  as  an  inspiration  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
'  I  jumped  out  of  bed,'  he  says,  '  and  ran  three  times 
round  my  room,  uttering  as  I  went,  "  Vanity  Fair,  Vanity 
Fair,  Vanity  Fair  !  "  ' 

1  Pendennis  '  appeared  in  1850,  and  <  Esmond,'  the 
finest  of  all  Thackeray's  novels,  two  years  later.  The 
latter  is  a  tale  of  the  time  of  Queen  Anne,  a  period  which 
Thackeray  loved  and  had  studied  most  carefully.  '  Tom 


526       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Jones  '  is  scarcely  more  real  and  lifelike,  and  there  are 
touches  of  beauty  in  it  such  as  Fielding  never  rose  to. 
The  chapter  entitled  '  The  29th  December,'  which  de- 
scribes the  return  of  Henry  Esmond  to  the  gentle  lady 
of  Castlewood,  is  like  a  beautiful  poem.  *  The  Newcomes ' 
came  out  in  1854,  and  in  Clive  Newcome,  as  in  Arthur 
Pendennis,  Thackeray  describes  his  own  youthful 
struggles  as  an  author.  The  Colonel  Newcome  of  the 
story  is  one  of  his  finest  creations,  and  the  old  man's 
death  in  the  old  Grey  Friars  is  a  most  pathetic 
picture. 

In  1857  *  The  Virginians,'  which  is  a  continuation  of 
*  Esmond,'  appeared,  and  in  1859  Thackeray  undertook 
the  editorship  of  the  new  magazine,  *  The  Cornhill.'  His 
novel,  '  Lovel  the  Widower,'  and  the  '  Adventures  of 
Philip '  were  written  for  the  magazine,  as  were  also  his 
delightful  '  Roundabout  Papers.'  He  resigned  the  editor- 
ship in  1862,  and  on  Christmas  Eve  of  1863  he  died, 
leaving  a  new  story,  *  Denis  Duval,'  unfinished. 

Thackeray  will  probably  never  be  as  widely  popular 
as  Dickens,  though  by  a  limited  class  of  readers  he  may 
be  more  highly  valued.  Dickens  possessed  a  teeming 
fancy  which  produced  new  and  original  characters  ap- 
parently without  an1  effort,  while  Thackeray's  range  was 
narrower,  and  his  old  Indian  officers  and  his  young 
authors  and  painters  reappear  under  new  names  again 
and  again.  On  the  other  hand,  Dickens's  characters  are 
often  grotesquely  unreal,  while  Thackeray's  appear  to  be 
careful  studies  from  real  life. 

To  both  these  great  men  belongs  the  glory  of  enlisting 
wit  and  fancy  on  the  side  of  purity  and  virtue,  and  we 


JOHN  RUSKIN  527 

see  in  Thackeray's  letters  how  full  his  heart  was  of  love 
and  religion. 

What  we  see  here  of  this  world  is  but  an  expression  of  God's  will,  so 
to  speak — a  beautiful  earth  and  sky  and  sea — beautiful  affections  and 
sorrows,  wonderful  changes  and  developments  of  creation,  suns  rising, 
stars  shining,  birds  singing,  clouds  and  shadows  changing  and  fading, 
people  loving  each  other,  smiling  and  crying,  the  multiplied  phenomena 
of  Nature,  multiplied  in  fact  and  fancy,  in  Art  and  Science,  in  every  way 
that  a  man's  intellect  or  education  or  imagination  can  be  brought  to 
bear. 


JOHN    RUSKIN 

CABLYLE,  in  his  last  letter  to  Emerson  (April  1872),  says: 

Do  you  read  Euskin's  '  Fors  Clavigera,'  which  he  cheerily  tells  me 
gets  itself  reprinted  in  America  ?  If  you  don't,  do,  I  advise  you.  There 
is  nothing  going  on  among  us  as  notable  to  me  as  those  fierce  lightning- 
bolts  Ruskin  is  copiously  and  desperately  pouring  into  the  black  world 
of  Anarchy  all  around  him.  No  other  man  in  England  that  I  meet  has 
in  him  the  divine  rage  against  iniquity,  falsity,  and  baseness  that 
Euskin  has,  and  that  every  man  ought  tc  have.  Unhappily,  he  is  not  a 
strong  man ;  one  might  say  a  weak  man  rather ;  and  has  not  the  least 
prudence  of  management ;  though,  if  he  can  hold  out  for  another  fifteen 
years  or  so,  he  may  produce,  even  in  this  way,  a  great  effect.  God  grant, 
say  I. 

Fifteen  years  and  more  have  passed,  and  Ruskin  is 
still  with  us ;  but  his  voice  is  silent,  and  we  who  have 
gained  comfort  and  inspiration  from  his  writings  fear 
that  we  may  hear  at  any  moment  that  his  life  has  closed. 
His  latest,  and  to  general  readers  and  admirers  his  most 
delightful,  writing  is  the  autobiography  '  Praeterita,'  the 
first  chapter  of  which  has  the  date  June  1885,  and  the 
twenty-seventh  that  of  June  1889. 

Ruskin  was  born  in  1819,  and  his  father  was  a  wine 


528        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

merchant  living  in  Hunter  Street,  Brunswick  Square  ; 
but,  when  the  boy  was  four  years  old,  the  family  moved 
to  Herne  Hill,  and  the  delights  of  the  garden  are  lovingly 
remembered,  especially  its  wealth  of  fruit,  which,  how- 
ever, the  boy  was  not  allowed  to  touch.  Nor,  though 
his  parents  loved  him  dearly,  had  he  any  wealth  of  toys, 
and  a  radiant  Punch  and  Judy,  which  an  aunt  bought 
for  him,  were  quietly  put  away,  and  he  never  saw  them 
more. 

John  was  an  only  child,  and  his  early  education  was 
given  him  by  his  mother,  and  the  part  which  in  after 
years  he  valued  above  all  was  a  very  stringent  course  of 
Bible  reading. 

As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  read  with  fluency,  she  began  a  course  of 
Bible  work  with  me,  which  never  ceased  till  I  went  to  Oxford.  She 
began  with  the  first  verse  of  Genesis,  and  went  straight  through,  to  the 
last  verse  of  the  Apocalypse ;  hard  names,  numbers,  Levitical  law  and 
all ;  and  began  again  at  Genesis  the  next  day.  If  a  name  was  hard,  the 
better  the  exercise  in  pronunciation — if  a  chapter  was  tiresome,  the 
better  lesson  in  patience — if  loathsome,  the  better  lesson  in  faith  that 
there  was  some  use  in  its  being  so  outspoken. 

The  daily  routine  of  lessons  was  delightfully  broken 
for  two  summer  months  in  each  year,  when  his  father 
travelled  to  see  customers,  taking  his  wife  and  child  with 
him. 

At  a  jog-trot  pace,  and  through  the  panoramic  opening  of  the  four 
windows  of  a  post-chaise,  I  saw  all  the  high  roads,  and  most  of  the  cross 
ones,  of  England  and  Wales,  and  great  part  of  Lowland  Scotland  as  far 
as  Perth,  where  every  other  year  we  spent  the  whole  summer. 

For  at  Perth  his  father's  only  sister  lived  in  a  house 
with  a  pleasant  garden  sloping  down  to  the  Tay,  and 
John  found  there  much  enjoyment  with  his  cousins, 
especially  with  Jessie,  and  he  records 


JOHN  RUSK  IN  529 

the  impression  left  on  me  when  I  went  gleaning  with  Jessie,  that 
Scottish  sheaves  are  more  golden  than  are  bound  in  other  lands,  and 
that  no  harvests  elsewhere  visible  to  human  eyes  are  so  like  the  '  corn 
of  heaven  '  as  those  of  Strath-Tay  and  Strath-Earn. 

Kuskin  has  elsewhere  described  the  beauty  of  the 
Scottish  Lowlands,  especially  the  music  of  its  gliding 
streams,  and  in  his  latest  writing  he  tells  us : 

It  seemed  to  me  that  this  space  of  low  mountain-ground,  with  the 
eternal  sublimity  of  its  rocky  sea-shores,  of  its  stormy  seas  and  dangerous 
sands ;  its  strange  and  mighty  crags,  Ailsa  and  the  Bass,  and  its  path- 
less moorlands,  haunted  by  the  driving  cloud,  had  been  of  more  import 
in  the  true  world's  history  than  all  the  lovely  countries  of  the  South, 
except  only  Palestine. 

A  few  years  later  and  the  whole  of  the  pleasant  family 
at  Perth  had  been  removed  by  death,  except  one  cousin, 
Mary,  who  came  to  live  with  the  Buskins  at  Herne  Hill. 
Their  summer  journeys  now  took  a  wider  range,  and  in 
1833  they  were  at  Schaffhausen,  and  from  thence  Ruskin 
got  his  first  lovely  vision  of  the  Alps 

It  was  drawing  towards  sunset  when  we  got  up  to  some  sort  of 
garden  promenade — west  of  the  tojvn,  I  believe;  and  high  above  the 
Khine,  so  as  to  command  the  open  country  across  it  to  the  south  and 
west.  At  which  open  country  of  low  undulation,  far  into  blue  -  gazing 
as  at  one  of  our  distances  from  Malvern  of  Worcestershire,  or  Dorking 
of  Kent— suddenly — below — beyond. 

There  was  no  thought  in  any  of  us  for  a  moment  of  their  being 
clouds.  They  were  clear  as  crystal,  sharp  on  the  pure  horizon  sky,  and 
already  tinged  with  rose  by  the  setting  sun.  Infinitely  beyond  all  that 
we  had  ever  thought  or  dreamed — the  seen  walls  of  lost  Eden  could  not 
have  been  more  beautiful  to  us ;  not  more  awful,  round  Heaven,  the 
walls  of  sacred  Death. 

It  is  not  possible  to  imagine,  in  any  time  of  the  world,  a  more 
blessed  entrance  into  life,  for  a  child  of  such  a  temperament  as  mine. 
I  went  down  that  evening  from  the  garden -terrace  of  Schaffhausen  with 
my  destiny  fixed  in  all  of  it  that  was  to  be  sacred  and  useful.  To  that 
terrace,  and  the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  my  heart  and  faith  return 

MM 


530       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

to  this  day,  in  every  impulse  that  is  nobly  alive  in  them,  and  every 
thought  that  has  in  it  help  or  peace. 

In  1837  Euskin  went  to  Oxford,  and  his  father 
fondly  hoped  he  would  carry  all  before  him  and  become 
in  time  a  bishop.  He  himself  had  no  such  aim  ;  but  his 
progress  in  Greek  was  creditable,  and  he  was  intensely 
interested  in  Thucydides,  regarding  the  subject  of  his 
history  as  '  the  central  tragedy  of  the  world,  the  suicide 
of  Greece.' 

But  in  1840  he  had  an  alarming  attack  of  illness,  and 
was  obliged  to  leave  the  university  and  seek  rest  and 
change  in  Italy.  The  next  few  years  were  spent  mostly 
in  travel,  and  in  1843  the  first  volume  of  his  great  work, 
'  Modern  Painters,'  was  published. 

When  Kuskin  was  thirteen  years  old,  his  father's 
partner  gave  him  a  copy  of  Rogers'  '  Italy  '  with  Turner's 
engravings,  and  the  boy's  enthusiasm  for  the  great 
painter  was  thus  kindled.  His  father,  some  years  later, 
delighted  him  with  a  present  of  Turner's  drawing  of 
'  Richmond  Bridge,'  and  he  himself,  when  he  came  of  age 
and  received  an  allowance,  gave  seventy  guineas  for  the 
drawing  of  *  Harlech.' 

In  June  1840  he  first  met  Turner,  and  made  the 
following  entry  in  his  diary  : 

Introduced  to-day  to  the  man  who  beyond  all  doubt  is  the  greatest 
of  the  age  ;  greatest  in  every  faculty  of  the  imagination,  in  every  branch 
of  scenic  knowledge  ;  at  once  the  painter  and  poet  of  the  day,  J.  M.  W. 
Turner. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  that  'Modern  Painters'  was 
begun,  and  it  was  continued  with  ever  widening  know- 
ledge and  increasing  power.  The  second  volume  ap- 


JOHN  RUSKIN  531 

peared  in  1846,  the  third  and  fourth  in  1856,  and  the 
final  volume  in  1860. 

Our  concern  is  with  literature,  not  with  art,  and  we 
must  not  linger  over  these  noble  volumes.  But  there  is 
in  them  very  much  which  is  deeply  interesting  to  others 
than  to  students  of  art.  There  are  criticisms  of  poetry, 
criticisms  of  life  and  religion,  and  beautiful  descriptions 
of  natural  objects,  of  rocks,  and  clouds,  and  streams,  and 
flowers. 

He  thus  lovingly  describes  the  mosses : 

Meek  creatures  !  the  first  mercy  of  the  earth,  veiling  with  hushed 
softness  its  dintless  rocks  ;  creatures  full  of  pity,  covering  with  strange 
and  tender  honour  the  scarred  disgrace  of  ruin,  laying  quiet  finger  on 
the  trembling  stones  to  teach  them  rest.  They  will  not  be  gathered, 
like  the  flowers,  for  chaplet  or  love  token ;  but  of  these  the  wild  bird 
will  make  its  nest,  and  the  wearied  child  his  pillow. 

And  as  the  earth's  first  mercy,  so  they  are  its  last  gift  to  us  ;  when 
all  other  service  is  vain,  from  plant  and  tree,  the  soft  mosses  and  gray 
lichen  take  up  their  watch  by  the  headstone.  The  woods,  the  blossoms, 
the  gift-bearing  grasses,  have  done  their  parts  for  a  time  ;  but  these  do 
service  for  ever.  Trees  for  the  builder's  yard,  flowers  for  the  bride's 
chamber,  corn  for  the  granary,  moss  for  the  grave. 

In  the  '  Prseterita '  we  get  pretty  glimpses  of  Ruskin 
working  in  the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisa,  in  the  church  of 
Santa  Maria  Novella  of  Florence,  and  such-like  places 
during  these  years.  Of  the  latter  place  he  says : 

Nobody  ever  disturbed  me  in  the  Ghirlandajo  apse.  There  were  no 
services  behind  the  high  altar ;  tourists,  even  the  most  learned,  had 
never  in  those  days  heard  Ghirlandajo's  name  ;  the  sacristan  was  paid 
his  daily  fee  regularly,  whether. he  looked  after  me  or  not.  The  lovely 
chapel,  with  its  painted  windows  and  companies  of  old  Florentines,  was 
left  for  me  to  do  what  I  liked  in,  all  the  forenoon  ;  and  I  wrote  a  com- 
plete critical  and  historical  account  of  the  frescoes  from  top  to  bottom 
of  it,  seated  mostly  astride  on  the  desks.  When  the  chief  bustle  in  the 

M  M  2 


532        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

small  sacristy  was  over,  with  the  chapel  masses  of  the  morning,  I  used 
to  be  let  in  there  to  draw  the  Angelico  Annunciation,  about  eleven  inches 
by  fourteen,  as  far  as  I  recollect,  then  one  of  the  chief  gems  of  Florence. 
The  monks  let  me  sit  close  to  it  and  work,  as  long  as  I  liked,  and  went 
on  with  their  cup-rinsings  and  cope-foldings  without  minding  me.  If 
any  priest  of  the  higher  dignities  came  in,  I  was  careful  always  to  rise 
reverently,  and  get  his  kind  look  or  bow,  or  perhaps  a  stray  crumb  of 
benediction. 

After  '  Modern  Painters,'  Kuskin's  chief  works  on  art 
are  '  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture  '  (1848)  and  '  Stones 
of  Venice '  (1851-3).  Then,  in  later  years,  a  number  of 
smaller  works  appeared,  some  of  which,  as  '  Aratra 
Penteliei'  (1870),  «  The  Eagle's  Nest '  (1872),  <  Ariadne 
Florentina'  (1872),  and  'Val  D'Arno  '  (1873),  were  the 
courses  of  art  lectures  delivered  before  the  University 
of  Oxford. 

But  in  these  years  Ruskin  had  become  an  ardent 
disciple  of  Carlyle,  and  in  a  series  of  works  such  as 
'  Unto  this  Last '  (1860),  '  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  '  (1866), 
and  'Fors  Clavigera  '  (1871),  he  continues  and  develops 
with  passionate  energy  the  teaching  of  *  Past  and 
Present,'  and  the  '  Latter  Day  Pamphlets.' 

'  Unto  this  Last '  is  an  eloquent  denunciation  of  the 
current  doctrines  of  political  economy,  and  it  has  no 
doubt  helped  to  bring  that  so-called  science  into  its 
present  discredit. 

The  '  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  '  is  a  series  of  four  lectures 
on  *  Work,'  '  Traffic,'  '  War,'  and  « The  Future  of 
England,'  and  it  is  preceded  by  an  introduction  of 
singular  beauty  and  power.  In  it  Buskin  divides  his 
rich  hearers  into  two  classes  :  those  who  honestly  believe 
in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  those  who  honestly 


JOHN  RUSK  IN  533 

disbelieve  it ;  and  to  the  latter  he  addresses  this  touching 
appeal : 

This  fate,  which  you  ordain  for  the  wretched,  you  believe  to  be  all 
their  inheritance  ;  you  may  crush  them,  before  the  moth,  and  they  will 
never  rise  to  rebuke  you  ;  their  breath,  which  fails  for  lack  of  food,  once 
expiring,  will  never  be  recalled  to  whisper  against  you  a  word  of  accusing  ; 
they  and  you,  as  you  think,  shall  lie  down  together  in  the  dust,  and  the 
worms  cover  you ;  and  for  them  there  shall  be  no  consolation,  and  on 
you  no  vengeance — only  the  question  murmured  above  your  grave  : 
'  Who  shall  repay  him  what  he  hath  done  ?  '  Is  it  therefore  easier  for 
you,  in  your  heart,  to  inflict  the  sorrow  for  which  there  is  no  remedy  ? 
Will  you  take,  wantonly,  this  little  all  of  his  life  from  your  poor  brother, 
and  make  his  brief  hours  long  to  him  with  pain  ?  Will  you  be  more 
prompt  to  the  injustice  which  can  never  be  redressed ;  and  more 
niggardly  of  the  mercy  which  you  can  bestow  but  once,  and  which, 
refusing,  you  refuse  for  ever  ? 

The  '  Fors  Clavigera '  is  a  series  of  '  Letters  to  the 
Labourers  and  Workmen  of  Great  Britain.'  The  first 
letter  was  published  in  January  1871,  and  for  some 
years  one  appeared  each  month,  until  the  writer's  illness 
broke  the  series,  and  the  eighth  volume  is  the  last.  The 
contents  of  these  letters  are  very  varied.  There  are 
pleasant  bits  of  autobiography,  pleasant  chapters  from 
the  life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  descriptions  of  Italian 
sculpture  and  scenery,  and  there  is  a  constant  uplifting 
of  the  voice  against  what  Euskin  regards  as  the  falseness 
of  modern  civilisation. 

There  was  a  rocky  valley  between  Buxton  and  Bakewell,  once  upon 
a  time,  divine  as  the  Vale  of  Tempe  ;  you  might  have  seen  the  Gods 
there  morning  and  evening — Apollo  and  all  the  sweet  Muses  of  the 
light — walking  in  fair  procession  on  the  lawns  of  it,  and  to  and  fro 
among  the  pinnacles  of  its  crags.  You  cared  neither  for  Gods  nor  grass, 
but  for  cash  (which  you  did  not  know  the  way  to  get) ;  you  thought  you 
could  get  it  by  what  the '  Times  '  calls  '  Eailroad  Enterprise.'  You  Enter- 
prised  a  Kailroad  through  the  valley,  you  blasted  its  rocks  away,  heaped 
thousands  of  tons  of  shale  into  its  lovely  stream.  The  valley  is  gone, 


534        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  the  Gods  with  it ;  and  now  every  fool  in  Buxton  can  be  at  Bakewell 
in  half  an  hour,  and  every  fool  in  Bakewell  at  Buxton  ;  which  you 
think  a  lucrative  process  of  exchange— you  Fools  Everywhere. 

In  place  of  such  a  false  state  of  society  Kuskin 
cherished  his  own  ideal,  and  by  founding  a  St.  George's 
Society  he  made  some  little  progress  in  actually 
realising  it. 

We  will  try  (he  says)  to  take  some  small  piece  of  English  ground, 
beautiful,  peaceful,  and  fruitful.  We  will  have  no  steam-engines  upon 
it,  and  no  railroads  ;  we  will  have  no  untended  or  unthought-of  creatures 
on  it ;  none  wretched,  but  the  sick  ;  none  idle,  but  the  dead.  We  will 
have  no  liberty  upon  it ;  but  instant  obedience  to  known  law,  and 
appointed  persons  :  no  equality  upon  it ;  but  recognition  of  every  better- 
ness  that  we  can  find,  and  reprobation  of  every  worseness. 

When  we  want  to  go  anywhere,  we  will  go  there  quietly  and  safely,  not 
at  forty  miles  an  hour,  in  the  risk  of  our  lives  ;  when  we  want  to  carry 
anything  anywhere,  we  will  carry  it  either  on  the  backs  of  beasts,  or  on 
our  own,  or  in  carts  or  boats ;  we  will  have  plenty  of  flowers  and  vege- 
tables in  our  gardens,  plenty  of  corn  and  grass  in  our  fields,  and  few  bricks. 

We  will  have  some  music  and  poetry  ;  the  children  shall  learn  to 
dance  to  it  and  sing  it ;  perhaps  some  of  the  old  people,  in  tune,  may 
also.  We  will  have  some  art,  moreover  ;  we  will  at  least  try  if,  like  the 
Greeks,  we  can't  make  some  pots.  The  Greeks  used  to  paint  pictures 
of  gods  on  their  pots ;  we  probably  cannot  do  as  much,  but  we  may  put 
some  pictures  of  insects  on  them,  and  reptiles ;  butterflies  and  frogs,  if 
nothing  better.  There  was  an  excellent  old  potter  in  France  who  used 
to  put  frogs  and  vipers  into  his  dishes,  to  the  admiration  of  mankind ; 
we  can  surely  put  something  nicer  than  that. 

We  must  now  hasten  to  a  close,  and  can  only  mention 
*  Sesame  and  Lilies  '  (1865),  one  of  the  most  delightful 
of  Euskin's  works,  treating  of  the  influence  of  good 
books  and  good  women ;  '  Ethics  of  the  Dust '  (1865), 
a  beautiful  and  playful  work  on  precious  stones ;  and 
'Love's  Meinie  '  (1873),  'Proserpina'  (1875),  and 
'Deucalion'  (1875),  which  are  respectively  most  charm- 
ing chapters  on  birds,  flowers,  and  rocks. 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING 


535 


Since  1872  Buskin  has  lived  at  Brantwood,  on  the 
shores  of  Coniston  Water,  in  the  beautiful  Wordsworth 
country.  His  house  is  kept  for  him  by  his  cousin,  Mrs. 
Arthur  Severn,  who  is  described  in  the  final  chapter  of 
'Praeterita,'  'Joanna's  Care.' 


TENNYSON   AND   BROWNING 

THE  present  age  has  been  so  happy  as  to  possess  two 
poets  who  have  worthily  continued  if  they  have  not 
excelled  the  poetic  glory  of  the  early  part  of  the  century 
—Tennyson,  with  the  simplicity  and  freshness  of  Words- 
worth combined  with  a  music  and  splendour  which 
Wordsworth  seldom  reached;  and  Browning,  with  the 
passion  and  magical  command  of  language  of  Shelley 
combined  with  the  deep  wisdom  which  Shelley  did  not 
live  to  attain. 

Alfred  Tennyson  was  born  in  1809,  in  the  rectory  of 
Somersby,  a  village  buried  among  the  Lincolnshire  Wolds. 
He  was  the  youngest  of  three  brothers,  and  they  all 
loved  poetry  and  began  early  to  write  verses.  Thomson 
was  at  first  Alfred's  favourite  poet,  and  then  Byron  ;  and 
when  news  came,  in  1824,  of  the  great  poet's  death, 
Tennyson  thought  '  the  whole  world  was  at  end,'  and  he 
wandered  out  disconsolately  and  carved  '  Byron  is  dead ' 
upon  the  sand-hills. 

Like  his  brothers,  he  was  educated  at  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  and,  after  his  father's  death,  he  returned  to 
Somersby  to  live  with  his  mother  and  sisters,  and  to  write 
poems  instead  of  seeking  promotion  in  ordinary  ways. 


536       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  this  retreat  he  was  visited  from  time  to  time  by 
college  friends  who  loved  him,  and  especially  by  his  dearest 
friend  of  all,  Arthur  Hallam,  the  son  of  the  historian. 

In  1833  this  dear  friend  died  suddenly  while  travel- 
ling with  his  father  in  Austria,  and  Tennyson's  deep 
sorrow  found  expression  at  last  in  the  greatest  of  his 
poems,  '  In  Memoriam.' 

The  earliest  volume  of  Tennyson's  poems  was  pub- 
lished in  1830,  then  a  second  in  1833,  and  in  1842  they 
were  republished  with  additions  and  alterations.  The 
collection  includes  such  well-known  favourites  as  the 
*  May  Queen '  and  '  Locksley  Hall,'  and  such  beautiful 
pictures  of  antiquity  as  '  (Enone  '  and  '  Ulysses.' 

In  1844  Carlyle,  in  writing  to  Emerson,  says  : 

Alfred  Tennyson  is  one  of  the  few  British  or  foreign  figures  who  are, 
and  remain,  beautiful  to  me ; — a  true  human  soul  to  whom  your  own 
soul  can  say,  '  Brother  ! ' 

One  of  the  finest-looking  men  in  the  world.  A  great  shock  of  rough 
dusty-dark  hair ;  bright-laughing  hazel  eyes ;  massive  aquiline  face, 
most  massive  yet  most  delicate;  of  sallow  brown  complexion,  almost 
Indian-looking  ;  clothes  cynically  loose,  free-and-easy  ;  smokes  infinite 
tobacco.  His  voice  is  musically  metallic  -  fit  for  loud  laughter  and 
piercing  wail,  and  all  that  may  lie  between  ;  speech  and  speculation  free 
and  plenteous :  I  do  not  meet  in  these  late  decades  such  company  over 
a  pipe. 

Carlyle  also  describes  Tennyson  as  '  a  man  solitary 
and  sad,  dwelling  in  an  element  of  gloom,  and  carrying  a 
bit  of  chaos  about  him/ and  the  poem  '  The  Two  Voices ' 
seems  to  be  a  picture  of  his  condition  at  this  time. 

In  1847  '  The  Princess '  appeared,  a  beautiful  mock 
heroic  poem  in  blank  verse.  It  is  a  story  in  seven 
chapters  of  a  princess  who  founded  a  university  for 
women,  and  of  a  prince  and  his  companions  who  by 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING  537 

subtlety  gained  admission  to  it.  There  is  much  in  the 
poem  which  is  only  sportive  fancy,  but  there  is  also 
much  which  appears  to  express  Tennyson's  deepest  con- 
victions as  to  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  Especially 
beautiful  is  the  passage  in  the  seventh  chapter  beginning, 

For  woman  is  not  undevelopt  man, 
But  diverse. 

There  are  scattered  through  the  poem  little  gems  of 
song  such  as 

Tears,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean  ; 

and  the  passionate  lyric  beginning, 

Thy  voice  is  heard  thro'  rolling  drums. 

In  1850  '  In  Memoriam'  was  published  without  the 
author's  name ;  but  no  name  was  needed ;  and  the  pathos, 
the  wisdom,  and  the  noble  simplicity  of  the  poem  found 
instant  recognition.  '  Lycidas  '  and  '  Adonais '  are  the 
only  English  poems  with  which  we  can  compare  it,  and 
Tennyson's  is  a  more  splendid  memorial  of  friendship 
than  either  Shelley's  or  Milton's. 

'  In  Memoriam'  consists  of  more  than  a  hundred 
short  poems,  all  written  in  the  same  simple  metre,  and 
each  one  striking  a  new  chord  of  grief.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  picture  of  the  happy  days  of  friendship  that  have 
fled,  sometimes  a  description  of  the  desolation  in  which 
he  now  finds  himself,  and  often  it  is  a  passionate  yearn- 
ing after  the  life  to  come,  and  an  eager  questioning  of 
philosophy  and  religion  concerning  the  aspirations  and 
hopes  of  man.1 

1  As  examples  of  these  various  moods  of  grief  may  be  mentioned  the 
poems  numbered  89,  6,  33,  and  54. 


538       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

On  the  death  of  Wordsworth  in  1850,  Tennyson  was 
appointed  '  Poet  Laureate  '  with  the  hearty  approval  of 
all  men. 

In  1855  he  published  *  Maud/  but  it  added  little  to 
his  fame,  though  it  has  some  magnificent  passages.  In 
1859  the  '  Idylls  of  the  King '  appeared — the  longest  and 
perhaps  the  finest  of  all  his  works. 

The,  story  of  Arthur,  which  had  captivated  Spenser 
and  tempted  Milton  and  Dryden,  had  haunted  Tennyson 
for  many  years,  and  among  his  early  poems  there  is  a 
first  essay,  the  '  Mort  d' Arthur.'  He  now  selected  some 
of  the  most  interesting  of  the  old  legends,  *  Geraint  and 
Enid,'  '  Merlin  and  Vivien,'  '  Lancelot  and  Elaine,'  and 
*  Guinivere,'  and  set  them  to  the  music  of  his  own  noble 
language.  Nothing  can  well  be  finer  in  execution  than 
the  description  of  the  last  parting  between  the  king  and 
the  guilty  queen  in  the  last  of  these  poems. 

Since  the  *  Idylls  '  Tennyson  has  written  several  fine 
poems,  among  which  may  be  specially  mentioned  the 
beautiful  story  of  *  Enoch  Arden  '  (1864),  and  the  short 
but  exquisite  poem,  *  Lucretius  '  (1868). 

He  has  also  written  several  dramas,  such  as  '  Harold ' 
and '  Queen  Mary,'  but  they  are  not  equal  in  merit  to  his 
descriptive  and  lyrical  works.  In  1892  Tennyson  died. 

The  question  would  be  hard  to  determine  whether 
Tennyson  or  Browning  is  the  greater  poet.  The  former 
will  almost  certainly  be  more  widely  popular ;  for,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  stanzas,  all  which  he  has  written 
is  as  intelligible  as  it  is  beautiful,  while  much  of  Brown- 
ing's work  is  dark  in  meaning.  The  admirers  of  the 
latter  poet  will  however  maintain  that  he  has  a  greater 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING  539 

creative  power,  a  wider  range  of  faculties,  and  that  he 
has  given  us  a  greater  wealth  of  new  ideas. 

Robert  Browning  was  born  in  Camber  well  in  1812, 
and  is  the  last  of  a  long  line  of  poets  who  were  Lon- 
doners. His  father  was  a  well-to-do  banker's  clerk,  and 
was,  besides,  a  scholar,  poet,  and  artist.  In  'Aso- 
lando,'  Browning's  latest  work,  he  recalls  the  wise  way 
in  which,  when  he  was  a  child  of  five,  his  father  began 
to  give  him  a  love  for  Homer. 

He  began  to  write  poems  from  an  early  age,  and  at 
twelve  had  enough  to  fill  a  small  volume.  At  thirteen 
he  secured  a  copy  of  Shelley's  works,  which  were  then 
almost  unknown,  and  he  was  kindled  with  a  new  enthu- 
siasm, and  felt  that  all  which  he  had  written  hitherto 
was  worthless. 

In  '  Pauline,'  the  earliest  of  his  published  poems, 
there  is  a  beautiful  tribute  to  Shelley : 

Sun-treader,  life  and  light  be  thine  for  ever  ! 
Thou  art  gone  from  us  ;  years  go  by,  and  spring 
Gladdens,  and  the  young  earth  is  beautiful, 
Yet  thy  songs  come  not ;  other  bards  arise, 
But  none  like  thee. 

But  thou  art  still  for  me  who  have  adored 
Tho'  single,  panting  but  to  hear  thy  name, 
Which  I  believed  a  spell  to  me  alone, 
Scarce  deeming  thou  wast  as  a  star  to  men. 

'  Pauline '  was  published  in  1833,  and  attracted  little 
attention,  though  here  and  there  a  good  judge  recog- 
nised that  a  new  poet  of  rare  though  immature  genius 
had  arisen. 

Browning  then  went  for  a  year  into  Italy,  and  on 
his  return  wrote  *  Paracelsus/  which  was  published  in 


540       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

1835.  It  is  a  kind  of  drama  in  five  parts.  In  the  first, 
Paracelsus,  who  is  young,  ardent,  and  thirsting  for 
knowledge,  is  parting  from  his  dearly  loved  friends,  Festus 
and  Michal.  They  seek  to  restrain  him  from  venturing 
into  the  wide  unknown  world,  but  he  resists  their  fond 

entreaties.  I  go  to  prove  my  soul ; 

I  see  my  way  as  birds  their  trackless  way. 
I  shall  arrive ;  what  time,  what  circuit  first, 
I  ask  not :  but  unless  God  send  His  hail 
Or  blinding  fireballs,  sleet  or  stifling  snow, 
In  some  time,  His  good  time,  I  shall  arrive : 
He  guides  me  and  the  bird  in  His  good  time  ! 

In  the  last  part  Paracelsus  is  an  old  man  lying  at 
the  point  of  death.  He  has  seen  much,  has  sinned  and 
suffered.  Men  have  regarded  his  discoveries  as  witch- 
craft or  trickery,  and  he  feels  that  his  name  will  be  held 
in  scorn.  But  all  will  be  clear  at  last,  and  in  that  hope 
he  dies  :  If  I  stoop 

Into  a  dark  tremendous  sea  of  cloud 
It  is  but  for  a  time ;  I  press  God's  lamp 
Close  to  my  breast ;  its  splendour,  soon  or  late, 
Will  pierce  the  gloom :  I  shall  emerge  one  day. 

'  Paracelsus '  is,  like  several  of  Browning's  greatest 
works,  the  history  of  a  soul,  the  subtle  analysis  of  the 
influence  which  adverse  surroundings  have  upon  an 
earnest  but  imperfect  nature,  marring  and  staining  it, 
and  yet  calling  forth  its  utmost  strength  in  the  struggle 
for  victory. 

'  Paracelsus  '  was  enthusiastically  welcomed  by  a  few 
finer  spirits,  and  among  others  by  the  great  actor  Mac- 
ready,  for  whom  Browning  in  the  following  year  wrote 
the  play  of  '  Str afford.'  Half  a  dozen  years  later  the 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING  541 

beautiful  play  of  'The  Blot  on  the  'Scutcheon'  was 
brought  out  by  the  same  great  actor,  and  Charles 
Dickens  was  in  raptures  over  it,  and  declared  it  to  be 
the  greatest  work  of  the  century. 

Browning's  next  work  after  '  Strafford '  was  '  Sor- 
dello,'  which  is  again  the  history  of  a  soul ;  but  it  was 
and  is  the  most  abstruse  of  all  the  poet's  works.  Amus- 
ing stories  are  told  of  the  bewilderment  of  readers. 
Tennyson  said,  '  There  were  only  two  lines  in  it  that  I 
understood,  and  they  were  both  lies ;  they  were  the  open- 
ing and  closing  lines,  Who  will  may  hear  Sordello's  story 
told,  and  Who  would  has  heard  Sordello's  story  told.' 
Carlyle  also  bore  witness,  '  My  wife  has  read  through 
"Sordello"  without  being  able  to  make  out  whether 
Bordello  was  a  man,  or  a  city,  or  a  book.' 

In  1841  appeared  the  beautiful  poem  or  drama, 
'Pippa  Passes,'  which  at  once  gained  public  favour. 
Browning  in  these  years  spent  much  of  his  time  in  the 
woods  of  Dulwich,  wandering  there  in  the  early  morning 
or  late  at  night,  and  there  he  beheld  the  marvellous 
sunrise  with  which  the  poem  opens  : 

Day! 

Faster  and  more  fast, 

O'er  night's  brim,  day  boils  at  last : 

Boils,  pure  gold,  o'er  the  cloud-cup's  brim 

Where  spurting  and  suppressed  it  lay, 

For  not  a  froth-flake  touched  the  rim 

Of  yonder  gap  in  the  solid  gray 

Of  the  eastern  cloud,  an  hour  away ; 

But  forth  one  wavelet,  then  another,  curled, 

Till  the  whole  sunrise,  not  to  be  suppressed, 

Eose,  reddened,  and  its  seething  breast 

Flickered  in  bounds,  grew  gold,  then  overflowed  the  world. 


542       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

*  Pippa  Passes '  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  eight  little 
volumes  or  pamphlets  of  poetry,  which  came  out  at 
intervals  between  1841  and  1846  under  the  pretty  title 
of  '  Bells  and  Pomegranates.'  Several  of  the  numbers 
were  dramas,  '  King  Victor  and  King  Charles,'  '  The 
Return  of  the  Druses,'  'Colombo's  Birthday,'  and  'Luria,' 
and  among  the  smaller  poems  were  *  The  Pied  Piper  of 
Hamelin,'  '  How  they  brought  the  Good  News/  '  The 
Lost  Leader,'  '  The  Tomb  at  St.  Praxed's,'  '  The  Boy 
and  the  Angel,'  and  '  Saul,'  which  are  all  very  beautiful. 

In  1846,  after  the  eighth  number  of  '  Bells  and  Pome- 
granates '  was  published,  Browning  was  married  to  Miss 
Elizabeth  Barrett,  who  was  herself  a  writer  of  fine  genius, 
and  the  poet  and  poetess  left  England  and  made  Italy 
their  home.  They  lived  first  at  Pisa,  then  at  Florence, 
and,  except  for  one  or  two  short  visits  to  France  and 
London,  there  they  remained  till  Mrs.  Browning's  death 
in  1861. 

Her  chief  work  during  this  Italian  sojourn  was  the 
beautiful  poem,  'Aurora  Leigh,'  which  placed  her  above 
all  English  poetesses.  Her  husband's  work  during  the 
same  period  was  the  poem,  '  Easter  Eve  and  Christmas 
Day,'  and  two  other  volumes  of  shorter  poems  entitled 
*  Men  and  Women.' 

The  closing  poem  of  this  series  is  entitled  '  One  Word 
More,'  and  is  addressed  to  E.  B.  B. 

There  they  are,  my  fifty  men  and  women 
Naming  me  the  fifty  poems  finished  ! 
Take  them,  Love,  the  book  and  me  together ; 
Where  the  heart  lies,  let  the  brain  lie  also. 

Then  he  goes  on  to  tell  how  Raphael  wrote  a  little 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING  543 

volume  of  sonnets,  and  Dante  painted  a  picture  of  an 
angel,  not  for  the  world,  but  for  the  one  soul  whom  he 
loved,  and  he  regrets  that  he  cannot  imitate  them. 

I  shall  never,  in  the  years  remaining, 

Paint  you  pictures,  no,  nor  carve  you  statues, 

Make  you  music  that  should  all-express  me ; 

So  it  seems  :  I  stand  on  my  attainment. 

This  of  verse  alone,  one  life  allows  me ;    . 

Verse  and  nothing  else  have  I  to  give  you. 

Other  heights  in  other  lives,  God  willing : 

All  the  gifts  from  all  the  heights,  your  own,  Love  ! 

After  his  wife's  death  Browning's  chief  work  was 
*  The  King  and  the  Book,'  his  masterpiece.  He  bought 
in  Florence,  in  1865,  the  little  vellum-covered  volume, 
two  hundred  years  old,  which  contained  the  story  of  the 
trial  of  Count  Guido  Franceschini  for  the  murder  of 
his  wife  and  her  foster  parents.  The  story  fascinated 
him ;  he  brooded  over  it,  and  it  grew  up  in  his  mind  into 
the  wonderful  creation  which  is  unfolded  in  the  twelve 
books  of  the  poem. 

The  incident  itself  is  vulgar  enough,  though  piteous 
and  horrible  ;  but  Browning  shows  his  wonderful  power 
of  mental  analysis  in  depicting  the  murder  and  the  causes 
which  led  up  to  it,  as  they  appeared  to  one  portion  of 
the  public  and  then  to  another.  The  chief  actors  them- 
selves give  their  presentment  of  the  story  :  Count  Guido ; 
his  child-wife  Pompilia,  whose  life  is  flickering  to  an  end ; 
the  Canon  Caponsacchi,  who  attempted  to  rescue  her ; 
and  the  aged  Pope  Innocent  XIII. ,  on  whose  final  judg- 
ment Guido' s  fate  hangs. 

The  most  beautiful  of  the  books  is  the  one  entitled 
'  Pompilia/  in  which  the  poor  child-wife  tells  her  story 


544         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

to  the  pitying  bystanders,  how  she  was  married,  without 
giving  consent,  by  her  fond  scheming  mother  to  Count 
Guido,  how  he  drove  her  friends  from  her  and  ill-treated 
her,  how  she  escaped  from  him  and  enjoyed  a  little  time 
of  sweet  rest  with  her  baby  and  her  parents,  until  her 
husband  with  his  confederates  burst  in  upon  them  and 
did  their  murderous  work. 
Of  her  husband  she  says  : 

We  shall  not  meet  in  this  world  nor  the  next, 
But  where  will  God  be  absent  ?     In  His  face 
Is  light,  but  in  His  shadow  healing  too : 
Let  Guido  touch  the  shadow  and  be  healed ! 
And  as  my  presence  was  importunate  — 
My  earthly  good,  temptation  and  a  snare — 
Nothing  about  me  but  drew  somehow  down 
His  hate  upon  me— somewhat  so  excused. 
Therefore,  since  hate  was  thus  the  truth  of  him, 
May  my  evanishment  for  evermore 
Help  further  to  relieve  the  heart  that  cast 
Such  object  of  its  natural  loathing  forth  ! 
So  he  was  made ;  he  nowise  made  himself : 
I  could  not  love  him,  but  his  mother  did. 

And  of  her  baby  who  is  safe,  and  whom  she  will  never 
see  again,  she  says : 

So  is  detached,  so  left  all  by  itself, 
The  little  life,  the  fact  which  means  so  much. 
Shall  not  God  stoop  the  kindlier  to  His  work, 
His  marvel  of  creation,  foot  would  crush, 
Now  that  the  hand  He  trusted  to  receive 
And  hold  it,  lets  the  treasure  fall  perforce  ? 
The  better  ;  He  shall  have  in  orphanage 
His  own  way  all  the  clearlier  ;  if  my  babe 
Outlived  the  hour — and  he  has  lived  two  weeks — 
It  is  through  God,  who  knows  I  am  not  by. 
Who  is  it  makes  the  soft  gold  hair  turn  black, 
And  sets  the  tongue,  might  lie  so  long  at  rest, 


TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING  545 

Trying  to  talk  ?    Let  us  leave  God  alone  ! 
Why  should  I  doubt  He  will  explain  in  time 
What  I  feel  now,  but  fail  to  find  the  words  ? 
My  babe  nor  was,  nor  is,  nor  yet  shall  be 
Count  Guido  Franceschini's  child  at  all — 
Only  his  mother's,  born  of  love,  not  hate  ! 

Since  '  The  Eing  and  the  Book  '  Browning  has  written 
many  works,  but  none  so  great.  In  *  Balaustion's  Adven- 
ture '  (1871),  'Aristophanes'  Apology'  (1875),  and  'The 
Agamemnon  of  ^Eschylus '  (1877)  he  has  caught  the 
spirit  and  beauty  of  Greek  tragedy.  '  Prince  Hohenstiel 
Schwangau '  (1871)  is  a  picture  of  Napoleon  III.,  and 
the  complex  problems  of  life  which  beset  him.  '  Fifine 
at  the  Fair '  (1872)  is  regarded  by  many  of  the  poet's 
admirers  as  one  of  his  very  greatest  works.  Even  an 
ordinary  reader  will  catch  in  its  perusal  glimpses  of  great 
beauty  ;  but  the  poem  as  a  whole,  though  not  so  obscure 
as •'  Bordello,'  remains  an  enigma. 

Browning  died  in  December  1889,  a  day  or  two  after 
the  publication  of  '  Asolando,'  his  last  book  of  poems. 
There  are  in  the  little  volume  many  true-hearted  songs, 
and  the  epilogue  is  especially  noble  and  pathetic. 


THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

WE  have  passed  in  review  the  great  names  which  have 
made  this  century  famous,  but  others  remain  which  may 
not  be  omitted.  The  writers  of  the  past  centuries — all 
except  a  few  of  the  greatest — have  ceased  to  be  generally 
interesting ;  but  it  is  different  with  those  of  the  age  in 

NN 


546         HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

which  we  live.  They  are  interesting  to  us,  though  they 
may  not  be  so  to  our  grandchildren.  Besides,  the  final 
judgment  of  posterity  is  sometimes  very  different  from 
that  of  contemporaries,  and  it  may  be  that  some  who 
are  now  counted  greatest  may  finally  change  places  with 
those  who  are  in  the  second  rank. 

The  famous '  Edinburgh  Review '  was  started  in  1802 
by  three  young  men  of  great  energy  and  talent,  Sydney 
Smith,  Francis  Jeffrey,  and  Henry  Brougham.  The 
first  of  these  gives  a  witty  account  of  the  origin  of  the 

*  Review.' 

One  day  we  happened  to  meet  in  the  eighth  or  ninth  story  or  flat 
in  Buccleugh  Place,  the  elevated  residence  of  the  then  Mr.  Jeffrey.  I 
proposed  that  we  should  set  up  a  Review ;  this  was  acceded  to  with 
acclamation.  I  was  appointed  editor,  and  remained  long  enough  in 
Edinburgh  to  edit  the  first  number  of  the  •  Edinburgh  Review.'  The 
motto  I  proposed  for  the  '  Review  '  was  Tenui  musam  meditamur  avena 
('  We  cultivate  literature  upon  a  little  oatmeal ').  But  this  was  too  near 
the  truth  to  be  admitted,  and  so  we  took  our  present  grave  motto  from 
Publius  Syrus,  of  whom  none  of  us  had,  I  am  sure,  ever  read  a  single 
line ;  and  so  began  what  has  since  turned  out  to  be  a  very  important 
and  able  journal. 

The '  Review '  soon  became  a  great  power  in  the  country 
on  account  of  the  brilliancy  of  its  articles,  and  its  bold- 
ness in  attacking  abuses  in  government  and  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  law.  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  a  contri- 
butor for  a  few  years,  but  the  politics  of  the  *  Review '  were 
distasteful  to  him,  and  he  ceased  to  write  in  it  about 
1808. 

The  tone  of  the  *  Review '  towards  young  authors  was 
often  one  of  merciless  severity.  Brougham  is  thought  to 
have  been  the  writer  of  the  insulting  review  of  Byron's 

*  Hours  of  Idleness,'  which  called  forth  the  indignant  re- 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  547 

joinder,  '  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Eeviewers.'  Jeffrey 
became  editor  in  1803,  and  continued  in  that  post  till 
1829,  and  to  him  more  than  to  any  other  the  great  and 
well-merited  success  of  the  '  Eeview '  was  owing.  There 
is  an  interesting  account  of  him  in  Carlyle's  '  Eemini- 
scences.'  He  was  a  man  of  fine  gifts  and  culture,  a  kind 
of  '  Scotch  Voltaire ' ;  but  he  was  deficient  in  imagina- 
tion, and  failed  to  recognise  the  beauty  and  power  of 
Wordsworth's  poetry,  or  of  the  strange,  new  ideas  of 
Carlyle. 

The  '  Quarterly  Review '  was  started  in  1808  as  a 
Tory  organ  in  opposition  to  the  Whig  *  Edinburgh.'  Sir 
Walter  Scott  and  Southey  were  two  of  its  most  constant 
contributors.  The  editor  was  William  Gifford,  who  was 
well  known  as  an  editor  of  the  old  dramatists,  and 
Byron  had  the  highest  respect  for  his  critical  skill  and 
judgment. 

Southey  says  of  Gifford,  *  He  had  a  heart  full  of  kind- 
ness for  all  living  creatures  except  authors ;  them  he  re- 
garded as  a  fishmonger  regards  eels,  or  as  Isaac  Walton 
did  slugs,  worms,  and  frogs.' 

The  '  Quarterly '  was  no  less  severe  than  the  '  Edin- 
burgh,' and  its  pitiless  criticism  of  Keats'  poems  called 
forth  the  indignant  '  Adonais '  of  Shelley. 

The  witty  Tom  Moore,  the  friend  and  biographer 
of  Byron,  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1779.  He  began  to 
write  verses  when  he  was  fourteen,  and  in  1800  he 
published  a  translation  of  the  '  Odes  of  Anacreon.'  He 
then  obtained  a  post  in  Bermuda,  and  paid  a  visit  also  to 
Canada,  of  which  the  '  Canadian  Boat  Song'  is  a  melodious 
memorial.  He  soon  returned  to  England  and  published 

N   N   2 


548        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

two  volumes  of  '  Odes  and  Epistles,'  which  were  severely 
reviewed  by  Jeffrey  in  the  '  Edinburgh.'  The  poet  chal- 
lenged the  reviewer,  and  they  met  at  Chalk  Farm  ;  but 
the  police  interrupted  the  duel,  and  the  affair  created 
much  merriment. 

In  1810  he  gained  the  friendship  of  Byron,  and 
never  lost  it.  A  few  years  later  Byron  said  of  him : 

Moore  has  a  peculiarity  of  talent,  or  rather  talents— poetry,  music, 
voice — all  his  own ;  and  an  expression  in  each,  which  never  was  nor 
will  be  possessed  by  another.  In  society  he  is  gentlemanly,  gentle,  and, 
altogether,  more  pleasing  than  any  individual  with  whom  I  am 
acquainted. 

In  1812  Moore  wrote  a  collection  of  satirical  political 
poems  under  the  title  of  *  The  Twopenny  Postbag,'  and 
fourteen  editions  were  issued  in  the  year.  In  1818-14 
he  published  his  *  Irish  Melodies,'  many  of  which  are 
very  beautiful,  though  the  beauty  is  somewhat  artificial 
and  affected. 

Hazlitt  said  Moore  *  converted  the  wild  harp  of  Erin 
into  a  musical  snuff-box ' ;  but  this  is  too  spiteful  a 
judgment. 

In  1817  he  wrote  the  oriental  romance,  '  Lalla  Kookh,' 
which  was  immensely  popular  in  England,  and  we  are 
told  it  delighted  the  Persians  themselves. 

In  1825  he  wrote  the  *  Life  of  Sheridan,'  and  in  1830 
the  «  Life  of  Byron.' 

He  died  in  1852. 

Samuel  Rogers  was  another  of  the  trusted  friends 
of  Byron.  He  was  born  in  1763  and  lived  till  1855. 
His  chief  poems  were :  '  Ode  to  Superstition,'  1786 ; 
'  Pleasures  of  Memory,'  1793  ;  '  Human  Life,'  1819  ;  and 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  549 

'Italy,'  1823.  His  poems  were  splendidly  illustrated 
with  drawings  by  Turner  and  Stothard  at  a  cost  of 
15,0001.,  and  these  beautiful  volumes  were  the  means 
by  which  Ruskin's  love  for  art  was  first  kindled. 

Roger s's  poems  are  filled  with  a  tranquil  beauty,  and 
they  are  the  works  of  a  man  of  fine  taste  and  culture. 
His  treatment  of  Italian  legends  is  especially  beautiful, 
and  '  Ginevra,' '  The  Foscari,'  and  '  The  Brides  of  Venice ' 
may  be  mentioned  as  instances  of  this. 

Byron,  in  speaking  of  Rogers,  says  : 

On  all  subjects  of  taste,  his  delicacy  of  expression  is  as  pure  as  his 
poetry.  If  you  enter  his  house — his  drawing-room,  his  library — you  of 
yourself  say,  This  is  not  the  dwelling  of  a  common  mind.  There  is  not 
a  gem,  a  coin,  a  book,  thrown  aside  on  his  chimney-piece,  his  sofa, 
his  table,  that  does  not  bespeak  an  almost  fastidious  elegance  in  the 
possessor. 

Charles  Lamb,  the  gentle  and  genial  author  of '  Elia,' 
was  born  in  1775.  His  father  occupied  a  humble  post 
in  the  Inner  Temple,  and  one  of  the  most  delightful  of 
the  *  Essays  of  Elia  '  is  filled  with  old  memories  of  that 
place : 

I  was  born,  and  passed  the  first  seven  years  of  my  life,  in  the  Temple. 
Its  church,  its  halls,  its  gardens,  its  fountain,  its  river— I  had  almost 
said — for  in  those  young  years,  what  was  this  king  of  rivers  to  me  but  a 
stream  that  watered  our  pleasant  places  ?  These  are  of  my  oldest  recol- 
lections. 

He  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital,  where  Coleridge 
was  his  schoolfellow,  and  there  the  friendship  began 
which  ended  only  with  their  lives.  In  1792  he  obtained 
a  post  in  the  service  of  the  East  India  Company,  and  the 
first  of  his  pleasant  essays  is  on  the  old  '  South  Sea 
House,'  where  he  was  a  clerk  for  many  a  year : 


550       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

The  clerks  were  mostly  (for  the  establishment  did  not  admit  of 
superfluous  salaries)  bachelors.  Generally  (for  they  had  not  much  to 
do)  persons  of  a  curious  and  speculative  turn  of  mind.  Humourists,  for 
they  were  of  all  descriptions  ;  and,  not  having  been  brought  together  in 
early  life  (which  has  a  tendency  to  assimilate  the  members  of  corporate 
bodies  to  each  other),  but,  for  the  most  part,  placed  in  this  house  in  ripe 
or  middle  age,  they  necessarily  carried  into  it  their  separate  habits  and 
oddities,  unqualified,  if  I  may  so  speak,  as  into  a  common  stock.  Hence 
they  formed  a  sort  of  Noah's  ark.  Odd  fishes.  A  lay  monastery. 

Lamb  himself  remained  a  bachelor  for  life  that  he 
might  watch  over  his  sister  Mary,  who  was  subject  to  fits 
of  madness,  and  who  unhappily  killed  her  mother  during 
one  of  these  attacks. 

His  first  publication  was  in  1797,  when  a  volume  of 
poems  was  issued,  the  joint  production  of  Coleridge, 
Lamb,  and  Lloyd.  '  Rosamund  Gray '  appeared  the 
next  year,  and  the  play  of  '  John  Woodvil '  in  1802  ;  but 
none  of  these  were  works  of  great  merit.  In  1807  the 
pleasant '  Tales  from  Shakspere  '  appeared,  the  joint  work 
of  Lamb  and  his  sister,  and  in  the  following  year  he 
published  '  Specimens  of  English  Dramatic  Poets,'  and 
in  this  work  he  displayed  great  power  and  delicacy  as 
a  critic  and  interpreter. 

But  his  choicest  work,  his  one  work  that  will  not  die, 
is  the* Essays  of  Elia,' published  in  1823,  and  filled 
with  quaint  and  delicate  humour  worthy  of  Addison  or 
Goldsmith.  All  the  chapters  are  delightful ;  some  have 
been  already  quoted ;  others  specially  beautiful  are 
1  Oxford  in  the  Vacation,'  '  Poor  Relations,'  and  *  Dream 
Children.' 

Lamb  died  in  1834,  and  his  sister  outlived  him 
twelve  years. 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  551 

Thomas  Campbell  was  born  in  Glasgow  in  1777, 
and  was  the  youngest  of  eleven  children.  He  went  at 
a  very  early  age  to  the  University,  and  gained  imme- 
diate distinction  by  his  translations  of  Greek  poetry. 
From  1794  to  1797  he  served  as  a  tutor  in  a  gentleman's 
family  in  the  Western  Highlands,  and  to  this  period 
belong  his  ballads  of  *  Glengara '  and  '  Lord  Ullin's 
Daughter.' 

He  then  settled  in  Edinburgh,  and  was  engaged  in 
miscellaneous  literary  work  and  in  private  teaching. 
Here,  in  1799,  he  published  his  chief  poem,  *  Pleasures 
of  Hope,'  which  became  at  once  a  favourite  with  the 
public.  The  title  of  the  poem  and  the  treatment  of  the 
subject  suggest  a  comparison  with  Rogers'  'Pleasures 
of  Memory,'  which  was  published  in  1793,  and  on 
the  whole  the  preference  is  to  be  given  to  the  earlier 
poem. 

In  1800  Campbell  went  to  Hamburg,  and  visited 
also  Ratisbon,  Munich,  and  Leipzig,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  actual  warfare.  '  I  stood  with  the  good 
monks  of  St.  Jacob  to  overlook  a  charge  of  Klenaw's 
cavalry  upon  the  French  encamped  below  us.' 

He  was  in  Hamburg  again  in  December  1800,  and 
in  that  month  the  battle  of  Hohenlinden  was  fought. 
Campbell's  stirring  poem  on  this  subject  is  perhaps 
the  best  of  all  his  works.  Scott  used  to  recite  it  with 
enthusiasm,  and  Byron  declared  it  to  be  *  perfectly 
magnificent.' 

While  in  Germany  Campbell  wrote  'Ye  Mariners 
of  England  '  and  '  The  Soldier's  Dream,'  which  were 


552       HANDBOOK   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

published  in  the  '  Morning  Chronicle  ' ;  and  soon  after 
his  return  to  England,  in  1801,  he  wrote  *  The  Battle 
of  the  Baltic.'  In  1803  he  married  and  settled  in 
London,  and  in  1805  he  received  from  the  Govern- 
ment a  pension  of  200/.  as  a  reward  for  his  patriotic 
poems. 

In  1809  Campbell  published  '  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,' 
a  simple  and  graceful  poem  describing  the  destruction 
of  a  Pennsylvanian  village  by  the  Indians  during  the  War 
of  Independence.  Washington  Irving  in  speaking  of 
this  poem  says  : 

There  is  no  great  scope  in  the  story,  nor  any  very  skilful  develop- 
ment of  the  plan,  but  it  contains  passages  of  exquisite  grace  and  tender- 
ness, and  others  of  spirit  and  grandeur,  and  the  character  of  Outalissi 
is  a  classic  delineation  of  one  of  our  native  savages  : 

'  A  stoic  of  the  woods,  a  man  without  a  tear.' 

From  this  time  forward  Campbell  laboured  in  London 
as  a  literary  man.  He  lectured  on  poetry  at  the  Royal 
Institution,  published  *  Specimens  of  British  Poets  '  in 
1819,  and  became  editor  of  the  '  New  Monthly  Magazine ' 
in  1820. 

He  was  one  of  the  chief  workers  in  the  founding  of 
the  London  University,  and  he  was  elected  for  three 
successive  years  Rector  of  his  own  University  of 
Glasgow. 

In  1843  his  health  failed,  and  he  died  the  next  year 
at  Boulogne.  At  his  funeral,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  a 
Polish  noble  scattered  upon  his  coffin  a  handful  of  earth 
from  the  grave  of  the  Polish  hero  Kosciusko,  whose 
praises  are  sung  in  the  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.' 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  553 

Leigh  Hunt  was  born  in  1784,  and  when  he  was 
more  than  sixty  years  old  he  wrote  his  '  Autobiography/ 
a  collection  of  delightful  reminiscences  of  bygone  men 
and  times.  He,  like  Coleridge  and  Lamb,  was  a  scholar 
at  Christ's  Hospital,  and  came  a  few  years  after  them, 
while  the  memory  of  them  was  still  fresh  there. 

After  leaving  school,  Hunt  wrote  a  volume  of  verses, 
which  his  father  published  in  1802.  Then  he  began  to 
write  sketches  in  newspapers  and  came  in  contact  with 
shoals  of  poor  authors. 

One  of  them,  poor  fellow  !  might  have  cut  a  figure  in  Smollett.  He 
was  a  proper  ideal  author,  in  rusty  black,  out  at  elbows,  thin  and  pale. 
He  brought  me  an  ode  about  an  eagle,  for  which  the  publisher  of  a 
magazine,  he  said,  had  had  'the  inhumanity  '  to  offer  him  half-a-crown. 
His  necessity  for  money  he  did  not  deny ;  but  his  great  anxiety  was  to 
know  whether,  as  a  poetical  composition,  his  ode  was  not  worth  more. 
'  Is  that  poetry,  sir  ?  '  cried  he  ;  '  that's  what  I  want  to  know— is  that 
poetry  ?  '  rising  from  his  chair,  and  staring  and  trembling  in  all  the 
agony  of  contested  excellence. 

In  1808  he  with  his  brother  John  established  a 
weekly  paper  called  the  '  Examiner,'  and  in  it  he  made, 
a  few  years  later,  a  sharp  attack  upon  the  Prince  Kegent, 
whom  he  called  '  a  violator  of  his  word,  a  libertine  over 
head  and  ears  in  disgrace,  a  despiser  of  domestic  ties, 
and  a  companion  of  gamblers,'  and  for  this  libel  the 
brothers  were  sentenced  to  two  years'  imprisonment  in 
separate  gaols. 

Leigh  Hunt's  prison  was  the  old  Horsemonger  Lane 
Gaol,  and  he  passed  his  time  not  uncomfortably. 

I  papered  the  walls  with  a  trellis  of  roses  ;  I  had  the  ceiling  coloured 
with  clouds  and  sky ;  the  barred  windows  I  screened  with  Venetian 
blinds  ;  and  when  my  bookcases  were  set  up  with  their  busts,  and  flowers 
and  a  pianoforte  made  their  appearance,  perhaps  there  was  not  a 


554       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

handsomer  room  on  that  side  the  water.  I  took  a  pleasure,  when  a 
stranger  knocked  at  the  door,  to  see  him  come  in  and  stare  about  him. 
The  surprise,  on  issuing  from  the  Borough,  and  passing  through  the 
avenues  of  a  gaol,  was  dramatic.  Charles  Lamb  declared  there  was  no 
other  such  room,  except  in  a  fairy  tale. 

He  came  out  of  prison  in  1815,  and  in  succeeding 
chapters  of  the  *  Autobiography '  we  have  pleasant 
accounts  of  intercourse  with  Byron  and  Shelley,  with 
Keats  and  Wordsworth,  and  in  later  times  with  Carlyle. 
The  following  is  a  striking  little  picture  which  he  gives 
of  Wordsworth's  eyes : 

I  never  beheld  eyes  that  looked  so  inspired  or  supernatural.  They 

were  like  fires,  half  burning,  half  smouldering,  with  a  sort  of  acrid 

fixture  of  regard,  and  seated  at  the  further  end  of  two  caverns.  One 
might  imagine  Ezekiel  or  Isaiah  to  have  had  such  eyes. 

While  in  prison  Leigh  Hunt  wrote  the  '  Story  of 
Bhnini,'  a  graceful  Italian  tale  in  verse,  and  he  also  wrote 
two  other  small  volumes  of  poems.  During  his  long 
lifetime  he  established  several  periodicals,  and  wrote 
several  little  works  filled  with  his  pleasant  vein  of  fancy 
and  imagination.  The  best  of  these  are  c  The  Town,' 
'  Men,  Women,  and  Books,'  '  A  Jar  of  Honey  from 
Mount  Hybla,'  and,  above  all,  the  book  of  his  old  age, 
the  'Autobiography.' 

For  some  years  he  was  a  near  neighbour  and  an 
intimate  friend  of  the  Carlyles  at  Chelsea,  and  there  are 
interesting  references  to  him  in  Carlyle's  '  Reminiscences  ' 
and  in  Mrs.  Carlyle  s  '  Letters.'  He  died  in  1859. 

John  Keats,  the  poet  whose  sad  fate  Shelley 
mourned  for  in  the  '  Adonais,'  was  born  in  1795.  He 
was  educated  at  a  school  at  Enfield,  and  learnt  no 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


555 


Greek  there,  though  in  later  years  he  became  so  pas- 
sionately fond  of  Greek  legends,  and  reproduced  them 
in  his  poems  with  rare  truth  and  beauty.  He  is 
described  as  being  a  youth  '  of  much  beauty  of  feature  : 
his  eyes  were  large  and  sensitive,  flashing  with  strong 
emotion  or  suffused  with  tender  sympathies.'  Like  other 
young  poets,  he  was  enthusiastically  fond  of  Spenser. 
'  He  ramped  through  the  scenes  of  the  romance  like  a 
young  horse  turned  into  a  spring  meadow;  he  could 
talk  of  nothing  else  :  his  countenance  would  light  up  at 
each  rich  expression,  and  his  strong  frame  would  tremble 
with  emotion  as  he  read.' 

His  delight  in  Chapman's  Homer  was  equally  great, 
and  he  would  '  read  it  all  night  long,  with  intense  delight, 
even  shouting  aloud  when  some  especial  passage  struck 
his  imagination.'  His  sonnet  'On  first  looking  into 
Chapman's  Homer  '  is  very  beautiful. 

Much  have  I  travell'd  in  the  realms  of  gold, 

And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen ; 

Bound  many  western  islands  have  I  been, 
Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 
Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told, 

That  deep-brow'd  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne  ; 

Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 
Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and  bold ; 
Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 

When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken  ; 
Or  like  stout  Cortez  when  with  eagle  eyes 

He  stared  at  the  Pacific— and  all  his  men 
Look'd  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise — 

Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 

After  leaving  school  Keats  was  apprenticed  to  a  sur- 
geon ;  but  he  soon  resolved  to  make  poetry  instead  of 


556       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

medicine  the  business  of  his  life.  Leigh  Hunt  was  one 
of  his  friends  and  advisers,  and  the  reviewers  contemp- 
tuously classed  them  together  as  the  founders  of  a  new 
style — '  the  Cockney  School  of  poetry.' 

In  1818  he  published  '  Endymion,'  of  which  the  open- 
ing lines  are  so  beautiful : 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever : 

Its  loveliness  increases  ;  it  will  never 

Pass  into  nothingness ;  but  still  will  keep 

A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing. 

The  legend  which  follows  shows  much  vagueness  and 
immaturity  of  taste  and  judgment ;  but  there  are  passages 
of  great  beauty,  and  the  poem  as  a  whole  is  far  from 
deserving  the  scurrilous  severity  of  the  '  Quarterly 
Review.' 

Two  years  later  another  volume  of  poems  was  pub- 
lished, containing  among  others  the  'Eve  of  St.  Agnes,' 
1  Lamia,'  and  '  Hyperion.'  They  all  showed  an  increase 
in  poetic  genius,  and  they  were  criticised  with  kindly 
appreciation  by  Jeffrey  in  the  'Edinburgh.'  Lord 
Byron  said  of  the  fragment  '  Hyperion  '  that  it  '  seemed 
actually  inspired  by  the  Titans  and  as  sublime  as 
^Eschylus.' 

Meanwhile  the  young  poet  was  dying  of  consumption. 
Shelley  begged  him  to  come  to  Pisa,  and  in  September 
1820  he  sailed  for  Italy.  He  went  first  to  Naples,  and 
then  to  Rome,  and  died  there  in  the  following  February, 
his  friend  Severn,  the  artist,  watching  tenderly  over  him 
to  the  last.  His  burial-place  in  the  Protestant  cemetery 
at  Rome  was  lovingly  described  by  Shelley,  and  over  the 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  $57 

grave   the   line   is   inscribed   which   the    poet    himself 
directed  :  '  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water.' 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  the  brilliant  essay- 
ist and  historian,  was  born  in  1800.  His  father,  Zachary 
Macaulay,  was  a  man  of  energy  and  enterprise,  had 
been  governor  of  Sierra  Leone,  was  greatly  interested 
in  negro  emancipation,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  and 
fellow- worker  with  Wilber force. 

The  early  years  of  the  boy  were  spent  in  the  heart 
of  the  City,  then  at  Clapham,  then  at  a  private  school, 
and  in  1818  he  entered  the  University  of  Cambridge. 
In  the  Union  Debating  Society  he  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  orators  ;  but  he  did  not  love  mathematics,  and 
his  name  did  not  appear  in  the  Tripos  lists. 

With  other  talented  young  men  of  the  university  he 
began  to  write  in  Charles  Knight's  <  Quarterly  Magazine,' 
and  in  1825  he  won  a  splendid  and  instant  reputation 
by  his  article  on  Milton  in  the  *  Edinburgh.'  Five  years 
later  he  was  enabled,  through  the  help  of  Lord  Lansdowne, 
to  enter  Parliament,  and  his  speech  in  favour  of  parlia- 
mentary reform  won  warm  praise  even  from  opponents. 
'  Portions  of  the  speech,'  said  Sir  Robert  Peel,  *  were 
as  beautiful  as  anything  I  have  ever  heard  or  read.  It 
reminded  one  of  the  old  times.' 

In  1833  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Supreme 
Council  of  India,  and  he  spent  the  next  four  or  five  years 
in  that  far-off  land.  His  labours  there  were  great  and 
beneficent,  especially  in  connection  with  education  and  the 
administration  of  the  law,  and  he  gained  the  experience 


558       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

which  lends  so  rich  a  colour  to  the  articles  on  Clive  and 
Warren  Hastings. 

In  1838  he  was  home  again,  and  paid  a  visit  to  Italy, 
and  shortly  afterwards  wrote  his  beautiful  and  stirring 
*  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome.'  His  series  of  articles  in  the 
'  Edinburgh '  had  never  been  quite  interrupted,  even 
when  he  was  in  India,  and  in  1839  he  wrote  his  review 
of  Mr.  Gladstone's  book  on  '  The  State  in  its  relations 
with  the  Church.'  But  he  was  meditating  his  own 
'  History  of  England,'  and  hoped  '  to  produce  something 
which  should  for  a  few  days  supersede  the  last  fashion- 
able novel  on  the  tables  of  young  ladies.'  His  hopes 
were  more  than  realised,  and  the  instant  popularity  of 
the  first  two  volumes  delighted  himself  and  his  friends 
and  his  publishers.  The  constant  succession  of  striking 
pictures,  the  lucid  and  vigorous  language,  and  the  never- 
ceasing  flow  of  illustrations  appeal  to  even  the  meanest 
intellects,  and  the  History  will  long  continue  to  be  one 
of  the  most  popular  of  books. 

Yet  it  is  not  one  of  the  greatest,  not  one  of  those 
to  which  we  return  again  and  again,  allured  by  new  and 
inspiring  ideas,  or  the  charm  of  a  noble  style.  Com- 
pared with  Carlyle's  exquisite  pictures  of  men  and  things, 
so  magical,  so  truthful,  Macaulay's  are  often  common- 
place and  superficial,  and  the  music  of  some  of  his  finest 
passages  has  a  hard  and  metallic  ring.  Yet  it  is  honest, 
genuine  work,  based  on  the  widest  knowledge  of  books 
and  men,  and  on  the  most  untiring  research. 

Macaulay  died  in  December  1859,  and  Thackeray 
lovingly  commemorates  him  in  one  of  the  *  Roundabout 
Papers.' 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  559 

John  Henry  Newman  was  born  in  1801,  and  in  his 

'  Apologia  '  he  gives  occasionally  interesting  glimpses  of 
his  early  life  : 

I  was  brought  up  from  a  child  to  take  great  delight  in  reading  the 
Bible  ;  but  I  had  no  formed  religious  convictions  till  I  was  fifteen.  I 
used  to  wish  the  Arabian  Tales  were  true  ;  my  imagination  ran  on  un- 
known influences,  on  magical  powers  and  talismans.  I  thought  life 
might  be  a  dream,  or  I  an  angel,  and  all  this  world  a  deception,  my 
fellow-angels  by  a  playful  device  concealing  themselves  from  me,  and 
deceiving  me  with  the  semblance  of  a  material  world. 

In  later  years  we  find  this  childish  fancy  still  linger- 
ing, but  in  a  nobler  form.  In  his  sermon  on  '  St.  Michael 
and  All  Angels  '  he  says  : 

Whenever  we  look  abroad  we  are  reminded  of  those  most  gracious 
and  holy  Beings,  the  servants  of  the  Holiest,  who  deign  to  minister  to 
the  heirs  of  salvation.  Every  breath  of  air,  and  ray  of  light  and  heat, 
every  beautiful  prospect,  is,  as  it  were,  the  skirts  of  their  garments,  the 
waving  of  the  robes  of  those  whose  faces  see  God  in  heaven.  Suppose 
an  inquirer,  when  examining  a  flower  or  a  herb,  or  a  pebble,  or  a  ray  of 
light,  which  he  treats  as  something  so  beneath  him  in  the  scale  of 
existence,  suddenly  discovered  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  some 
powerful  being  who  was  hidden  behind  the  visible  things  he  was  in- 
specting, who,  though  concealing  his  wise  hand,  was  giving  them  their 
beauty,  grace,  and  perfection,  as  being  God's  instrument  for  the 
purpose,  nay,  whose  robe  and  instruments  those  wondrous  objects 
were  which  he  was  so  eager  to  analyse,  what  would  be  his  thoughts  ? 

In  due  course  Newman  went  to  Oxford,  was  a  student 
at  Trinity,  and  afterwards  a  fellow  at  Oriel,  and  became, 
with  Keble  and  Pusey,  the  soul  of  the  great  revival 
known  as  the  '  Oxford  Movement.'  In  1828  he  became 
vicar  of  St.  Mary's,  the  university  church,  and  many  are 
the  testimonies  to  the  thrilling  effect  of  his  sermons 
there.  Matthew  Arnold  says : 

Who  could  resist  the  charm  of  that  spiritual  apparition  gliding,  in 
the  dim  afternoon  light,  through  the  aisles  of  St,  Mary's,  rising  into  the 


560       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

pulpit,  and  then,  in  the  most  entrancing  of  voices,  breaking  the  silence 
with  words  and  thoughts  which  were  a  religious  music,  subtle,  sweet, 
mournful  ? 

I  seem  to  hear  him  still  saying,  'After  the  fever  of  life,  after 
wearinesses  and  sicknesses,  fightings  and  despondings,  languor  and  fret- 
fulness,  struggles  and  succeeding :  after  all  the  changes  and  chances  of 
this  troubled,  unhealthy  state — at  length  comes  death,  at  length  the 
white  throne  of  God,  at  length  the  beatific  vision.' 

In  1833  the  series  of  the  famous  '  Tracts  for  the 
Times '  was  begun,  and  Newman  was  the  editor.  The 
series  closed  in  1841  with  '  Tract  XC.,'  of  which  Newman 
was  the  writer,  and  which  raised  so  great  a  storm  of 
opposition  that  in  1843  he  resigned  the  living  of  St. 
Mary's,  and  in  1845  he  joined  the  Church  of  Rome. 
A  few  years  later  he  wrote  the  extremely  interesting 
story,  'Loss  and  Gain,'  the  hero  of  which,  Charles 
Reding,  has  a  life  experience  similar  in  many  points 
to  that  of  the  author. 

Nearly  twenty  years  later,  Charles  Kingsley  rashly 
charged  Dr.  Newman  with  insincerity,  and  the  charge 
drew  from  him  the  splendid  vindication,  the  '  Apologia 
pro  vita  sua,'  which  is  a  beautiful  delineation  of  the 
history  of  a  soul.  The  present  pope,  soon  after  his 
accession,  created  Dr.  Newman  a  Cardinal,  and  English- 
men of  all  creeds  were  proud  of  the  honour  conferred  on 
one  of  the  most  gifted  of  their  countrymen. 

The  list  of  Cardinal  Newman's  works  is  a  long  one, 
comprising  more  than  thirty  volumes,  and  they  all 
display  great  beauty  of  language  and  subtlety  and  power 
of  argument ;  but  the  volumes  we  turn  to  with  greatest 
pleasure,  are  those  which  contain  his  parochial  sermons 
preached  while  he  was  still  within  the  fold  of  the  Anglican 
Church. 


THE   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  561 

John  Stuart  Mill  was  born  in  1806,  and  he  has  left 
us  a  marvellous  account  of  his  early  education.  He  did 
not  remember  when  he  began  to  learn  Greek,  but  before 
he  was  eight  he  had  read  the  whole  of  Herodotus  and 
parts  of  Plato  and  Xenophon.  His  teacher  was  his 
father,  James  Mill,  a  man  of  great  force  of  character, 
who  wrote  a  very  able  history  of  India,  and  works  on 
philosophy  and  political  economy. 

The  father  was  a  sceptic,  what  we  now  call  an 
Agnostic,  and  the  son  tells  us  : 

I  was  one  who  had  not  thrown  off  religious  belief,  but  never  had  it ; 
I  grew  up  in  a  negative  state  with  regard  to  it.  I  looked  upon  the 
modern  exactly  as  I  did  upon  the  ancient  religion,  as  something  which 
in  no  way  concerned  me. 

The  boy  became  acquainted  with  his  father's  philo- 
sophical friends,  and  among  others  with  David  Kicardo, 
the  political  economist,  and  Jeremy  Bentham,  the  father 
of  the  Utilitarian  system  of  philosophy,  and  in  1822  he 
founded,  with  Charles  Austin,  George  Grote,  and  other 
like-minded  young  men,  the  Utilitarian  Society  for  the 
discussion  of  Bentham's  views. 

James  Mill  held  the  office  of  Examiner  in  the  East 
India  House,  and  in  1823  his  son  was  appointed  under 
him  and  remained  in  that  service  for  many  years.  In 
the  same  year  the  '  Westminster  Keview '  was  started  by 
Bentham  as  a  Eadical  organ  of  opinion  in  opposition  to 
the  Tory  'Quarterly'  and  the  Whig  'Edinburgh,'  and 
the  Mills,  both  father  and  son,  were  frequent  contributors. 

For  some  years  the  young  Mill  continued  ardent, 
eager,  hopeful,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  good  of  man- 
kind. Then,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  a  cloud  fell  upon  him, 
A  00 


562        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  all  his   ideals    seemed    unsatisfying.      Coleridge's 
lines,  he  tells  us,  exactly  described  his  state : 

A  grief  without  a  pang,  void,  dark,  and  drear, 
A  drowsy,  stifled,  unimpassioned  grief, 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet  or  relief 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear. 

At  length  he  found  relief  in  the  sweetness  and  healing 
influence  of  Wordsworth's  minor  poems : 

What  made  Wordsworth's  poems  a  medicine  for  my  state  of  mind, 
was  that  they  expressed  not  mere  outward  beauty,  but  states  of  feeling 
and  of  thought  coloured  by  feeling,  under  the  excitement  of  beauty. 
They  seemed  to  be  the  very  culture  of  the  feelings  which  I  was  in 
quest  of. 

When  Carlyle  settled  in  London,  he  found  Mill  was 
one  of  his  ardent  admirers,  and,  though  in  later  years 
they  stood  far  apart,  Mill  still  thought  of  him  with  justice 
and  good  feeling. 

I  did  not  deem  myself  a  competent  judge  of  Carlyle.  I  felt  that  he 
was  a  man  of  intuition,  which  I  was  not ;  and  that,  as  such,  he  not  only 
saw  many  things  long  before  me,  which  could  only,  when  they  were 
pointed  out  to  me,  hobble  after  and  prove,  but  that  it  was  highly  pro- 
bable he  could  see  many  things  which  were  not  visible  to  me  even  after 
they  were  pointed  out. 

In  1843  Mill  published  his  greatest  work,  the  '  System 
of  Logic,'  a  work  far  in  advance  of  any  previous  work 
on  the  subject,  in  luminous  method,  in  fulness  of  illus- 
tration, and  in  adaptation  to  the  latest  advances  in 
scientific  discovery. 

Five  years  later  he  published  his  *  Principles  of 
Political  Economy,'  which  is  in  many  respects  an  excel- 
lent work,  but  some  of  its  fundamental  principles  have 
been  rudely  shaken  by  Euskin  and  others. 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  563 

In  1859  he  published  a  little  book  on  '  Liberty,'  which 
he  rated  as  the  best  of  all  his  works,  and  two  years  later 
there  appeared  a  work  on  '  Eepresentative  Government.' 

Mill  died  in  1873,  and  the  '  Autobiography  '  and 
'  Three  Essays  on  Religion  '  appeared  after  his  death. 

Charles  Darwin  is  placed  by  his  admirers  on  as  high 
a  pinnacle  as  Newton,  and  for  somewhat  similar  reasons. 
The '  Law  of  Gravitation  '  was  a  master  idea  which  many 
minds  had  been  feeling  after,  and  which  harmonised 
a  host  of  isolated  truths,  and  supplied  a  firm  basis  on 
which  to  build  a  vast  structure  of  astronomical  science. 
So,  too,  in  the  world  of  natural  history,  the  accumula- 
tion of  facts  and  observations  was  enormous,  and  men 
were  seeking  after  some  law  or  master  idea  which  should 
bind  all  the  countless  facts  together  in  due  order  and 
connection.  Darwin's  law  of  '  Natural  Selection,'  or,  as 
it  is  now  more  aptly  called,  '  Survival  of  the  Fittest,' 
supplied  the  clue  that  was  needed,  and  the  most  eminent 
naturalists,  both  in  England  and  abroad,  have  accepted 
and  welcomed  it. 

Darwin  was  born  at  Shrewsbury  in  1809,  and  was 
a  pupil  in  the  Grammar  School  there.  At  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  went  to  Edinburgh  University,  and  two  years 
later  to  Cambridge,  where  he  greatly  enjoyed  the  teaching 
of  Henslow  the  botanist. 

Then,  in  1831,  he  accepted  an  offer  to  accompany,  as 
naturalist  without  pay,  H.M.S.  Beagle  in  a  voyage  round 
the  world.  He  tells  us  that  the  voyage  was  the  most 
important  event  of  his  life  and  determined  his  whole 
career.  It  lasted  for  five  years,  and  they  visited  South 

0  o  2 


564       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

America,  Australia  and  New  Zealand,  and  many  of  the 
islands  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific.  After  his  return  he 
wrote  his  *  Journal  of  Researches,'  and  it  is  a  wonderful 
record  of  patient  and  sagacious  observation. 

He  then  married  and  settled  at  Down  House,  near 
Orpington  in  Kent,  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  days, 
among  his  plants  and  birds,  maturing  his  observations 
and  meditating  the  great  ideas  which  they  gave  birth  to. 
It  is  remarkable  that  his  grandfather,  Erasmus  Darwin, 
an  eminent  botanist  of  the  last  century,  disbelieved  the 
orthodox  notion  that  all  species  of  plants  and  animals 
had  been  distinct  from  the  beginning.  Buffon  in  France 
and  Goethe  in  Germany  believed  that  species  were  not 
immutable,  that  the  endless  varieties  had  been  derived 
from  one  or  more  types,  and  that  they  were  still  slowly 
but  constantly  changing. 

To  Goethe  and  Buffon  this  truth  remained  only  as  a 
belief,  but  Darwin  fortified  it  with  so  complete  an  array 
of  observed  facts  that  it  seemed  to  gain  the  surety  of  a 
law. 

In  1859  his  great  work  '  On  the  Origin  of  Species ' 
was  published,  and  even  those  who  would  not  accept  the 
author's  conclusions  could  not  but  admire  his  luminous 
method,  and  the  ease  with  which  he  marshalled  his 
countless  array  of  facts.  Lapse  of  time  has  confirmed 
his  conclusions,  has  turned  opponents  into  advocates, 
and  has  proved  the  '  Origin  of  Species  '  to  be  an  epoch- 
making  book. 

In  1871  *  The  Descent  of  Man  '  was  published,  which 
to  old-fashioned  people  was  a  more  startling  book  than 
the  '  Origin  of  Species.'  Darwin  wrote  various  other 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  565 

works  on  interesting  points  in  natural  history  and 
geology,  and  his  last,  on  the  'Formation  of  Vegetable 
Mould  through  the  Action  of  Worms,'  is  an  admirable 
example  of  his  patience  and  skill  and  sagacity  as  an 
observer. 

In  April  1882  he  died,  and  his  '  Life  and  Letters,' 
since  published  by  his  son,  give  a  beautiful  picture  of  a 
gentle- natured  seeker  after  truth. 

James  Anthony  Froude,  the  trusted  friend  and 
literary  executor  of  Carlyle,  was  born  at  Dartington,  in 
Devon,  on  April  23  (Shakspere's  birthday),  in  1818. 
His  father  was  Archdeacon  of  Totnes,  and  his  elder 
brother,  Kichard  Hurrell  Froude,  was  the  bosom  friend 
of  Newman,  and  one  of  the  moving  spirits  of  the  '  Ox- 
ford Movement.'  James  also  was  intended  for  the 
Church,  and  was  entered  at  Oriel  (Newman's  college)  in 
1836,  and  in  due  course  gained  a  fellowship  at  Exeter 
College. 

Like  other  young  men,  he  came  under  the  strong 
influence  of  Newman,  and  took  some  part  with  him  in 
writing  certain  '  Lives  of  the  English  Saints.'  But 
his  heart  was  perhaps  never  entirely  in  this  work,  and 
Carlyle's  influence  was  telling  upon  him  and  proving 
stronger  than  Newman's : 

I  wrote  an  account  of  St.  Neot  at  the  request  of  a  person  for  whom 
I  had  a  profound  personal  admiration.  But  in  my  reading  on  that 
occasion,  and  in  my  subsequent  hagiological  studies,  I  found  myself  in 
an  atmosphere  where  any  story  seemed  to  pass  as  true  that  was  edifying. 
I  did  not  like  my  occupation,  and  drew  out  of  it.1 

1  Nineteenth  Century,  April  1879. 


566       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

In  1844  Froude  took  deacon's  orders,  but  in  each 
succeeding  year  he  felt  his  position  become  more  and 
more  untenable.  In  1847  he  published  anonymously 
'  Shadows  of  the  Clouds/  and  in  1848  *  Nemesis  of 
Faith,'  and  thereupon  surrendered  his  fellowship. 

The  *  Nemesis  of  Faith '  is  a  series  of  letters  written 
by  a  youth,  Markham  Sutherland,  to  a  friend,  and 
picturing  the  mental  conflicts  through  which  he  passed 
in  losing  first  his  early  faith,  and  then  in  making  ship- 
wreck of  his  life.  The  first  part  of  the  work  is  un- 
doubtedly a  picture  of  Froude  himself,  but  happily  not 
the  latter. 

Markham  Sutherland  speaks  thus  of  the  rival  in- 
fluences that  were  attracting  him  : 

Newman  grew  up  in  Oxford,  in  lectures  and  college  chapels  and 
school  divinity;  Carlyle  in  the  Scotch  Highlands  and  the  poetry  of 
Goethe. 

And  as  an  outcome  of  the  conflict  he  says  : 

I  do  not  dishonour  the  Bible.  I  honour  it  above  all  books.  The 
New  Testament  alone,  since  I  have  been  able  to  read  it  humanly,  has  to 
me  outweighed  all  the  literature  of  the  world. 

Froude,  after  surrendering  his  fellowship,  maintained 
himself  by  literature,  writing  articles  in  *  Fraser's 
Magazine  '  and  the  '  Westminster  Review,'  which  have 
been  reproduced  and  preserved  in  '  Short  Studies  on 
Great  Subjects.'  The  article  on  '  England's  Forgotten 
Worthies '  appeared  in  1852,  that  on  *  Job  '  in  1853,  and 
that  on  '  Spinoza  '  in  1854,  and  all  of  them  show  a 
rare  descriptive  power  and  a  keen  and  delicate  critical 
insight. 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  567 

In  1856  the  first  two  volumes  of  his  '  History  of 
England  '  appeared  ;  other  volumes  followed  at  intervals, 
and  the  final  volumes,  the  eleventh  and  twelfth,  appeared 
in  1870.  This  great  work  treats  of  the  period  from  the 
fall  of  Wolsey  to  the  destruction  of  the  Armada,  and 
gives  wonderfully  vivid  pictures  of  the  persons  and  the 
incidents  of  those  eventful  times. 

Froude  has  been  bitterly  accused  by  Freeman  and 
others  of  carelessness  and  inaccuracy  in  the  use  of  his 
materials,  and  of  unscrupulous  partiality.  That  he 
was  somewhat  careless  seems  established,  but  that  he 
was  honest  in  his  convictions  is  beyond  all  doubt.  His 
great  theme  was  the  story  of  the  Eeformation,  and  in 
1891  he  wrote : 

I  believe  the  Keformation  to  have  been  the  greatest  incident  in 
English  history,  the  root  and  source  of  the  expansive  force  which  has 
spread  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  over  the  globe,  and  imprinted  the  English 
genius  and  character  on  the  constitution  of  mankind. 

In  1872  Froude  published  in  three  volumes  his  work 
on  *  The  English  in  Ireland,'  describing  the  period  from 
1641  to  1798.  In  1874  he  was  sent  on  a  mission  of 
inquiry  to  the  Cape,  and  his  visit  to  that  and  other 
parts  of  the  world  resulted  in  the  little  volume  '  Oceana,' 
which  was  published  in  1886. 

Shortly  after  Carlyle's  death,  in  1881,  Froude,  as 
his  literary  executor,  edited  the  two  volumes  of  the 
'  Keminiscences  '  ;  then  in  1882  he  published  the 
first  two  volumes  of  his  '  Life  of  Carlyle ' ;  two  years 
later  the  final  two  volumes ;  and  shortly  afterwards  he 
edited  the  three  volumes  of  '  Letters  of  Mrs.  Carlyle.' 


568       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

After  the  death  of  his  antagonist,  Professor  Freeman, 
Froude  was  appointed  to  succeed  him  in  the  Chair  of 
Modern  History  at  Oxford,  and  delivered  lectures  which 
were  greatly  admired,  notably  those  on  Drake  and 
Erasmus. 

Froude  died,  after  a  short  illness,  in  October  1894. 

George  Eliot  did  for  the  Midland  Counties  of  Eng- 
land what  Scott  did  for  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland,  though 
with  a  lower  degree  of  power  and  beauty.  '  Silas 
Marner '  and  '  Adam  Bede,'  in  their  truth  to  nature, 
are  akin  to  *  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  ' ;  but  Scott  pos- 
sessed a  range  and  richness  of  fancy  to  which  George 
Eliot  could  not  rise. 

The  authoress,  Mary  Ann  Evans,  was  born  in  War- 
wickshire in  1819.  Her  father  was  a  land  agent  who 
had  once  been  a  carpenter,  and  his  simple  but  noble 
nature  is  reproduced  in  '  Adam  Bede.'  *  Dinah  Morris ' 
is  said  to  be  a  portrait  of  Elizabeth  Evans,  an  aunt 
of  the  authoress,  who  is  herself  portrayed  in  '  Maggie 
Tulliver.' 

Her  first  publication  was  a  translation  of  Strauss' 
'Life  of  Jesus'  in  1846,  and  a  few  years  later  she  became 
sub-editor  of  the  'Westminster  Review.'  In  1857  her 
first  work  of  fiction,  '  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,'  ap- 
peared, then  '  Adam  Bede '  in  1859,  and  '  The  Mill  on 
the  Floss'  in  1860.  Her  first  publication  had  been 
anonymous,  and  she  now  adopted  and  retained  the  nom 
deplume  of ' George  Eliot.'  Other  novels  followed,  and 
one  of  the  best  of  them,  '  Rornola,'  was  published  in  the 
1  Cornhill  Magazine.'  '  Daniel  Deronda,'  which  was  one 


THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  569 

of  her  latest  stories,  has  some  beautiful  studies  of  Jewish 
character,  but  it  lacks  the  charm  of  her  earlier  and 
simpler  stories. 

George  Eliot  was  a  poetess  as  well  as  novelist.  She 
wrote  the  '  Spanish  Gypsy,'  the  '  Legend  of  Jubal,'  and 
a  few  shorter  poems.  In  these  she  shows  something 
of  Wordsworth,  his  high  and  noble  purpose,  but  little  of 
the  charm  of  his  imagination.  One  of  the  best  of  the 
shorter  poems  is  the  noble  one  beginning, 

0  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible. 

George  Eliot  died  in  December  1880. 

Matthew  Arnold,  the  brilliant  critic  from  whom  we 
have  so  often  quoted,  was  born  in  1822.  His  father  was 
the  well-known  Dr.  Arnold,  and  he  was  appointed  Head 
Master  of  Kugby  School  when  Matthew  was  six  years 
old.  For  summer  holidays  Dr.  Arnold  took  a  pleasant 
house  at  Fox  Howe  in  Westmoreland,  and  enjoyed  there 
the  friendship  of  Wordsworth. 

Matthew  went  in  due  course  to  Oxford  at  the  time 
when  Newman's  influence  was  at  its  highest,  and  his 
eloquent  description  of  that  great  man  has  been  already 
quoted.  His  love  for  Oxford  never  faded,  and  in  one  of 
his  prefaces  he  apostrophises  the  university  in  language 
of  extreme  tenderness  and  beauty. 

In  1849  Arnold  published  anonymously  *  The 
Strayed  Eeveller,  and  other  Poems,'  and  in  1852  another 
volume,  *  Empedocles  on  Etna,  and  other  Poems.'  These 
volumes  were  re-issued  with  additions  in  1853,  in  1855, 
and  in  1867,  and  in  1858  he  published  a  tragedy, 
'  Merope.'  Many  of  the  poems  are  exquisitely  beautiful, 


S?o       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

though  they  do  not  move  us  like  Tennyson  or  Browning. 
Some  of  them,  such  as  '  The  Strayed  Keveller,'  have 
caught  the  spirit  of  Greek  poetry,  but  we  miss  the  yearn- 
ing passion  of  Tennyson's  '  (Enone.'  The  poems,  *  The 
Forsaken  Merman,'  '  Heine's  Grave,'  and  '  Rugby 
Chapel,'  are  some  of  the  best. 

But  many  who  do  not  care  for  Arnold's  poetry 
greatly  enjoy  his  prose  with  its  sparkling  wit  and  delicate 
irony.  The  volume  of  '  Essays  in  Criticism  '  (1865)  is 
a  charming  work.  The  essay  on  Heine  in  its  delicate 
insight  is  equal  to  some  of  Carlyle's  best  critical  work. 

In  1871  he  published  a  whimsical  book,  *  Friendship's 
Garland,'  sparkling  with  wit,  and  humorously  attacking 
British  Philistinism,  especially  as  exemplified  in  G.  A. 
Sala  and  the  '  Daily  Telegraph.'  Two  years  earlier  he 
had  written  '  Culture  and  Anarchy,'  in  which  he 
preached  his  favourite  doctrine  of  *  Sweetness  and  light.' 

The  popular  religion  of  England,  the  unreasoning 
reliance  upon  the  mere  letter  of  the  Scripture,  has  been 
handled  somewhat  freely  and  severely  by  him  in  a  series  of 
books,  '  St.  Paul  and  Protestantism,'  '  Literature  and 
Dogma,'  and  '  God  and  the  Bible.'  Arnold  shows  a  fine 
and  true  perception  of  the  spiritual  excellence  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments,  but  the  final  effect  of  his  criticisms 
is  unsatisfying. 

Arnold  wrote  numerous  articles  in  magazines  on 
current  questions  in  politics,  especially  in  regard  to 
Ireland,  and  he  had  a  deep-rooted  distrust  of  Mr. 
Gladstone's  proposed  remedies. 

Matthew  Arnold  died  in  April  1888. 


SUMMAEY. 

The  Beginnings  of  English  Literature— The  cultivation  of  litera- 
ture followed  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  and  first  in  the  North. 
During  the  seventh  century  Northumbria  was  the  supreme  power 
in  Britain,  and  for  another  century  it  was  foremost  in  learning  and 
literature.  During  this  period  Lindisfarne,  \Vhitby,  and  Jarrow 
were  great  centres  of  spiritual  and  intellectual  influence. 

Baeda. — Baeda  was  born  in  673,  and  spent  his  life  in  the  monas- 
teries of  Wearmouth  and  Jarrow.  He  became  proficient  in  all 
kinds  of  learning,  and  crowds  of  pupils  gathered  to  hear  him  teach. 
On  his  death-bed  he  composed  some  verses  in  English,  and  laboured 
to  complete  his  translation  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John.  His  extant 
works  are  in  Latin,  and  are  very  numerous.  The  best  is  the 
'  Ecclesiastical  History.' 

Csedinon. — All  we  know  of  Csedmon  we  learn  from  Bseda.  He 
was  miraculously  endowed  with  the  gift  of  song.  His  first  song 
is  preserved  in  what  is  thought  to  be  its  primitive  form.  On  the 
Buthwell  Cross  there  is  a  Kunic  inscription  which  is  a  fragment  of 
a  poem  on  the  Eood,  and  this  is  thought  to  be  the  work  of  Caedmon. 
'  Caedmon's  Paraphrase  '  is  now  considered  to  be  the  work  of  several 
writers.  Milton  probably  had  some  knowledge  of  it. 

'  Beowulf.' — '  Beowulf  is  a  fine  poem  of  over  6,000  lines,  which 
is  preserved  in  a  single  manuscript.  In  its  earliest  form  it  belongs 
to  remote  pagan  times,  but  it  has  been  re-written  by  a  latlr 
Christian  poet.  The  first  part  describes  the  beautiful  palace  of 
King  HroSgar,  the  ravages  wrought  by  the  fiend  Grendel  and  his 
mother,  and  the  deliverance  wrought  by  the  hero  Beowulf.  The 
second  part  describes  the  combat  between  the  aged  King  Beowulf 
and  the  dragon  which  was  wasting  the  land  of  the  Goths. 

King  Alfred. — During  the  ninth  century  the  greater  part  of 
England  was  wasted  by  the  Danes,  and  literature  almost  perished. 
King  Alfred  did  his  best  to  restore  it,  and  translated  several  Latin 
works  into  English.  Among  these  was  the  '  Pastoral  Care  '  of  Pope 
Gregory,  and  in  the  preface  Alfred  gives  an  interesting  picture  of 
the  ignorance  into  which  England  had  relapsed.  He  also  translated 


572       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

the  Chronicles  of  Orosius,  and  added  an  account  of  the  voyages  of 
Othere  and  Wulfstan,  two  travellers  from  the  land  of  the  Norse- 
men. 

The  Saxon  Chronicles. — There  are  seven  £>axon  Chronicles  now 
existing,  and  the  one  marked  A  is  probably  the  oldest  and  the 
parent  of  the  others.  It  begins  B.C.  60,  and  ends  A.D.  1079.  Down 
to  731  it  is  compiled  chiefly  from  Baeda.  During  the  greater  part 
of  the  ninth  century  the  entries  have  the  marks  of  contemporary 
f  freshness,  and  Alfred's  wars  with  the  Danes  are  well  described. 

During  a  great  part  of  the  tenth  century  the  entries  are  meagre, 
but  four  fine  odes  are  inserted.  During  the  eleventh  century  the 
entries  are  very  few  and  scattered.  Chronicle  D  is  specially  rich 
in  Mercian  and  Northumbrian  annals  of  the  eighth  and  ninth  cen- 
turies. It  is  the  only  one  of  the  Chronicles  which  gives  an  account 
of  the  Battle  of  Hastings. 

JElfric.— After  Alfred's  death  literature  flagged.  War  desolated 
the  country  and  many  monasteries  lay  in  ruins.  A  revival  was 
effected  by  Dunstan  and  his  followers.  Famous  schools  arose  at 
Glastonbury,  Abingdon,  and  Winchester,  and  from  them  came  forth 
the  great  scholar  and  writer  Mlfric.  He  became  head  of  the  min- 
ster of  Cerne  Abbas,  and  later  Abbot  of  Eynsham.  He  wrote  two 
series  of  homilies,  and  at  the  entreaties  of  his  friends  he  added  a 
third  series  on  the  lives  of  English  saints.  He  also  translated  parts 
of  the  Old  Testament,  and  wrote  several  grammatical  works. 

The  Latest  Saxon  Chronicle. — The  Peterborough  Chronicle  is  the 
latest,  as  it  reaches  to  the  year  1154.  Down  to  the  year  892  it  is 
copied  from  the  Winchester  Chronicle,  but  with  many  spurious 
^  interpolations.  From  1083  to  1090  the  entries  are  by  one  who 
knew  the  Conqueror  well,  and  they  appear  to  have  been  made  at 
Worcester.  The  description  of  the  misery  of  Stephen's  reign  is  by 
a  Peterborough  writer,  and  is  very  vivid. 

Bemains  of  Saxon  Literature. — Many  Saxon  writings  are  anony- 
mous, and  their  dates  are  doubtful.  Many  perished  in  the  deso- 
lating Danish  wars.  The  Codex  Exoniensis  preserved  in  Exeter 
'.»  Cathedral  is  one  of  the  chief  collections  of  Saxon  poems.  The  Ver- 
celli  book  discovered  in  1832  is  a  further  important  collection. 
Archbishop  Parker,  Archbishop  Laud,  and  Sir  Robert  Cotton  were 
three  great  collectors  of  Saxon  writings.  To  them  we  owe  the 
Chronicles,  the  '  Beowulf,'  and  other  important  works. 

Influence  of  Norman  Conquest. — English  literature  flagged  in  the 
eleventh  century  in  consequence  of  the  desolating  Danish  wars, 
and  also  because  of  the  growing  intercourse  with  Normandy.  At 
the  Conquest  English  ceased  to  have  any  recognition  at  court,  and 
the  language  underwent  a  great  change,  case-endings  and  other  in" 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    573 

flections  being  rapidly  cast  off.  Three  languages,  Latin,  French, 
and  English,  were  used  side  by  side  in  England.  From  the  time 
of  Edward  I.  for  80  or  90  years  French  took  the  place  of  Latin. 
Then  English  once  more  gained  the  supremacy. 

Latin  and  French  Literature  of  the  Norman  Period.— The  literature 
of  England  during  the  twelfth  century  was  almost  entirely  Latin 
and  French.  Eadmer,  Florence  of  Worcester,  Simeon  of  Durham, 
"William  of  Malmesbury,  and  Henry  of  Huntingdon,  were  English-  If 
men,  who  wrote  in  Latin  histories  of  England.  Guy  of  Amiens. 
William  of  Poitiers,  and  Ordericus  Vitalis,  were  Normans,  who  wrote 
in  Latin  an  account  of  the  Conquest.  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  wrote 
a  history  of  the  Britons,  which  is  a  storehouse  of  romantic  fables. 
Wace,  a  native  of  Jersey,  wrote  the  French  metrical  romances, 
*  Brut  d'Engleterre  '  and  the  '  Eoman  de  Kou.' 

Old  English  Homilies. — The  later  entries  in  the  Peterborough 
Chronicle  and  a  few  homilies  are  almost  all  that  we  have  left  of  the 
literature  of  the  twelfth  century.  Some  of  these  homilies  are  copied 
or  imitated  from  those  of  ^Elfric. 

The  '  Ormulum.' — The '  Ormulum  '  is  a  collection  of  metrical  homi- 
lies, one  for  each  day  of  the  year,  but  the  single  existing  copy  gives 
the  homilies  for  thirty-two  days  only.  There  are  very  few  French 
words  in  the  poem,  but  Scandinavian  words  and  constructions 
abound.  The  writer,  Orm,  or  Orniin,  belonged  to  the  East  of  Eng- 
land, and  he  and  his  brother  Walter  were  Augustinian  monks.  He 
makes  no  use  of  alliteration  or  rhyme,  but  his  verses  are  smooth 
and  regular.  He  doubles  his  consonants  after  short  vowels  in  a 
peculiar  manner. 

Layamon. — The  '  Brut '  of  Layamon  is  a  long  poem  which  is  a 
translation  and  expansion  of  the  '  Brut '  of  Wace.     The  additions        ^ 
excel  the  original,  and  there  are  but  few  French  words  in  the  work. 
The  writer  was  a  priest  living  at  Ernleye  on  the  Severn.     His  treat- 
ment of  the  legends  of  King  Arthur  is  specially  beautiful. 

The  '  Ancren  Biwle.' — This  work  was  written  for  a  sisterhood  of 
nuns  who  lived  at  Tarente  on  the  Stour,  in  Dorset,  and  the  author 
is  thought  to  have  been  Richard  le  Poor,  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  who 
died  in  1237.  The  work  is  in  eight  books,  and  it  is  a  description  of 
the  spiritual  life. 

The  same  writer  is  thought  to  be  the  author  of  the  « Life  of  St. 
Juliana,'  and  several  other  similar  works  which  are  written  in 
praise  of  virginity.  St.  Juliana  was  a  Christian  maiden  of  Nico- 
media,  who  suffered  martyrdom  gladly  rather  than  marry  a  heathen 
man. 

*  The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale.'— This  is  a  fine  pastoral  poem  be- 


574       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

longing  to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  author  is 
thought  to  be  one  Nicholas  de  Guildford,  of  Porteshain,  in  Dorset. 
The  poem  describes  a  scolding  match  between  the  two  birds  after 
the  manner  of  the  French  troubadours.  After  each  bird  has  sung 
its  own  praise  and  reviled  its  opponent,  they  agree  to  submit  the 
matter  to  Nicholas  de  Guildford. 

'  King  Horn.' — This  is  a  metrical  romance  which  was  very  popu- 
lar in  the  thirteenth  century.  It  is  translated  from  the  French, 
but  the  story  seems  to  be  Old  English  in  original.  Alliteration  is 
not  used,  but  instead  of  this  the  French  device  of  end-rhymes. 
King  Horn  is  a  beautiful  young  prince  who  is  carried  away  by 
pirates  ;  but  his  life  is  spared,  and  after  many  wonderful  adven- 
tures he  weds  a  princess,  and  regains  his  father's  kingdom. 

Robert  of  Gloucester. — He  is  said  to  be  the  author  of  a  long  rhym- 
ing Chronicle  of  over  12,000  lines,  but  the  poem  is  thought  to  be 
the  work  of  more  than  one  writer.  The  language  and  local  allu- 
N*/  sions  belong  to  Gloucestershire.  In  the  early  part  of  the  Chronicle 
the  writer  follows  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  but  makes  use  of  William 
of  Malmesbury  and  other  writers.  In  the  latter  part  he  speaks  as 
a  contemporary.  The  work  has  no  poetical  merit. 

Literature  of  the  Thirteenth  Century. — 'Proverbs  of  Alfred,'  a 
poem  which  became  very  popular  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and 
which  professed  to  be  a  collection  of  the  wise  sayings  of  King 
N<\  Alfred. 

'  Genesis  and  Exodus,'  a  fine  poem  of  the  same  period,  written 
in  the  Midland  dialect  by  an  unknown  author. 

'  A  Moral  Ode.' — A  poem  of  about  400  lines,  written  by  one  who 
in  old  age  looked  back  with  regret  over  a  misspent  life. 

Dialects. — The  literary  works  of  the  thirteenth  century  are  in 
many  dialects,  no  one  of  which  had  then  attained  any  recognised 
supremacy.  There  were  three  well  marked,  the  Northern,  Midland, 
and  Southern,  corresponding  to  the  three  kingdoms  and  races  of 
Northumbria,  Mercia,  and  Wessex. 

Romances. — The  French  troubadours  composed  an  abundance  of 
romances  and  sung  them  at  the  courts  of  the  Norman  kings, 
liiehard  I.  was  himself  a  troubadour.  The  subjects  of  the  romances 
were  generally  the  deeds  of  Charlemagne  and  his  knights,  or  of 
King  Arthur  and  his  knights,  and  then  a  little  later  tales  of  the 
Crusaders  became  popular.  Old  tales  were  retold,  and  the  incidents 
were  transferred  to  Eastern  lands.  From  the  time  of  Edward  II. 
many  of  these  tales  were  translated  into  English.  The  romance  of 
Kichard  Cueur  de  Lyon  describes  the  hero's  parentage  and  birth, 
and  his  wonderful  deeds  in  the  East 

Northumbrian  Literature  in  the  Fourteenth  Century, — The '  Cursor 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE   575 

Mundi '  is  a  long  poem  which  goes  through  the  whole  course  of  the 
Bible  history.  The  writer  draws  his  materials  from  homilies, 
legends,  apocryphal  Scriptures,  as  well  as  from  the  Bible. 

*  Metrical  Homilies.' — This  is  a  collection  of  homilies  for  all  the 
Sundays  in  the  year,  and  in  plan  it  is  somewhat  similar  to  the 
'  Ormulum.' 

*  The  Hermit  of  Hampole '  was  born  in  Yorkshire  about  1290, 
and  died  in  1349  at  Hampole,  near  Doncaster.     At  nineteen  or 
twenty  he  became  a  hermit,  and  was  thought  to  have  miraculous 
powers.     He  wrote  a  long  poem  called  the  '  Pricke  of  Conscience.' 
Some  parts  of  the  poem  are  very  fanciful. 

^Robert  @>JSourne.4-This  writer  has  been  called  the  patriarch  of 
the  new  English,  for  the  dialect  in  which  he  wrote  became  the  esta- 
blished literary  language.  He  was  born  at  Bourne  about  1260,  and 
was  a  monk  in  Sempringham  monastery.  He  translated  a  French  ••' 
religious  work  called  the  '  Manuel  des  Peches,'  which  was  a  collec- 
tion of  pioils  precepts  and  anecdotes,  and  to  these  he  added  many 
new  anecdotes.  He  also  wrote  a  longer  work,  the  '  Chronicles  of 
England.'  For  the  first  part  of  this  he  translated  Wace ;  for  the 
second  a  French  metrical  chronicle  written  by  a  monk  of  Bridling- 
ton.  Kobert  of  Bourne  was  very  desirous  to  write  in  a  style  that 
could  easily  be  understood. 

English  Prose  Writers  in  the  Fourteenth  Century. — From  the  Con- 
quest for  three  centuries  there  was  little  or  no  prose  writing  in 
English.  In  the  fourteenth  century  prose  began  to  be  cultivated. 

Sir  John  Mandeville's  '  Travels  '  became  very  popular  on  ac- 
count of  the  marvellous  tales  contained  in  the  book.  The  writer 
was  born  at  St.  Albans<  about  1300,  started  on  his  travels  in  1322, 
returned  in  1356,  and  died  in  1371.  He  wrote  his  travels  after  his 
return,  in  Latin,  French,  and  English,  with  the  object  of  stirring  up 
Christian  nations  to  rescue  the  Holy  Land  from  the  heathen.  His 
description  of  places  which  he  certainly  visited  is  filled  with  mar- 
vellous incidents,  and  still  stranger  stories  are  told  of  Cathay,  Tar- 
tary,  and  the  Isles  of  the  sea,  which  places  he  probably  did  not  visit 
himself. 

Wyclif  was  born  at  Spreswell,  in  Yorkshire,  about  1320.  He  was 
educated  at  Oxford,  became  one  of  the  foremost  scholars  there,  and 
was  made  Master  of  Balliol  in  1360.  He  was  a  stern  opponent  of  the 
degenerate  mendicant  monks,  and  he  supported  John  of  Gaunt  in 
his  endeavour  to  strip  the  Church  of  some  of  its  enormous  wealth. 
He  was  summoned  in  1377  before  the  Bishop  of  London  to  answer 
for  his  teaching,  and  some  years  later  he  was  summoned  to  Rome, 
but  died  before  he  could  obey.  His  last  years  were  spent  in  Lutter- 
worth,  in  translating  the  Bible  and  in  training  his  order  of  poor 
priests. 


576      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

John  of  Trevisa  was  a  Cornishman  who  spoke  and  wrote  in  the 
West  country  dialect.  He  was  chaplain  to  Lord  Berkeley,  and 
translated  for  him  Higden's  '  Polychronicon,'  a  Latin  work  of  great 
authority,  a  compendium  of  universal  history  and  geography. 

'  Piers  Plowman.'— William  Langland  was  born  about  1332  in 
Shropshire,  was  educated,  so  it  is  thought,  at  Malvern,  entered  the 
Church,  but  remained  all  his  life  miserably  poor.  At  about  the  age 
of  thirty  he  came  to  London,  and  lived  on  Cornhill  with  his  wife 
and  daughter.  The  first  edition  of  his  poem  '  Piers  Plowman  '  ap- 
peared about  1362,  a  longer  edition  in  1377,  and  one  still  longer  in 
1390.  In  the  poem  there  are  many  Norman-French  words,  but 
alliteration  is  used  instead  of  rhyme.  The  work  is  a  series  of  visions, 
and  the  story  is  an  allegory,  so  that  Langland  is  an  earlier  Bunyan. 
The  poet  attacks  the  selfishness,  luxury,  and  oppression  which  were 
then  so  prevalent,  especially  among  the  clergy.  •  Piers  Plowman ' 
himself  is  an  honest  rustic,  who  holds  fast  to  truth  while  all  the 
world  is  lost  in  error.  In  the  latter  parts  of  the  poem  Piers  becomes 
identified  with  Christ  Himself. 

Chaucer. — Chaucer  was  born  in  London,  where  his  father  and 
grandfather  were  vintners.  The  date  of  his  birth  is  uncertain. 
Some  place  it  in  1328,  but  1340  is  a  more  probable  date.  There  is 
a  tradition  that  he  was  educated  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  but 
nothing  is  certainly  known  on  this  point.  In  1357  he  was  in  service 
at  court,  and  in  1359  was  with  King  Edward  in  France,  and  was 
taken  prisoner.  Between  1370  and  1380  he  was  several  times  sent 
abroad  on  diplomatic  business,  and  in  1373  it  is  thought  that  he 
met  Petrarch  at  Padua.  For  his  services  he  received  rewards  and 
pensions,  and  an  office  in  the  Customs  which  he  held  for  twelve 
years.  He  was  now  jnarried  and  lived  at  Aldgate.  In  1386  he  was 
Knight  of  the  Shire  for  Kent,  and  in  1389,  after  some  reverses  of 
fortune,  he  was  appointed  Clerk  of  the  King's  Works.  In  two  years' 
time  he  lost  this  office,  and  in  his  later  years  he  suffered  poverty. 
The  accession  of  the  new  king  in  1399  brought  him  relief,  but  the 
poet  died  the  next  year. 

Chaucer's  Earlier  Poems. — Eomaunt  of  the  Rose. — This  is  a 
translation  of  a  very  popular  French  poem.  It  abounds  in  pleasant 
descriptions  of  flowers  and  birds,  of  singing  and  dancing,  and  other 
pleasant  things. 

The  Boke  of  the  Ducliesse  is  in  memory  of  Blanche,  the  wife  of 
John  of  Gaunt.  In  a  deep  forest  the  poet  represents  the  widower 
lamenting  his  loss  and  describing  his  lady  as  he  first  saw  her. 

Tlie  Parlement  of  Briddes  is  thought  to  describe  in  allegory 
the  wedding  of  Anne  of  Bohemia  with  Richard  II.  It  abounds  in 
beautiful  descriptive  passages,  and  shows  marks  of  Italian  influence 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  577 

*  Canterbury  Tales.'— The  plan  of  the  tales  was  suggested  by  the 
i Decameron  '  of  Boccaccio,  but  in  the  grouping  of  the  characters  and 
incidents  Chaucer  excels  the  Italian.  The  prologue  is  one  of  Chau- 
cer's finest  pieces  of  work,  and  its  excellences  are  unborrowed. 
The  Knight,  the  Prioresse,  and  the  Poor  Parson  are  described  with 
loving  minuteness,  but  the  male  ecclesiastics  are  depicted  as  sensual 
worldly  men. 

The  *  Tales.' — Chaucer's  work  is  unfinished,  for  there  were  twenty- 
nine  travellers,  and  there  are  only  twenty-three  tales.  The  first 
and  longest  is  the  Knight's,  which  is  an  adaptation  of  Boccaccio's 
poem,  the  '  Teseide.'  The  story  is  of  two  friends,  Palamon  and 
Arcite,  who  fall  in  love  with  the  same  lady,  Emelie,  and  their 
friendship  is  turned  to  hatred.  In  a  great  tournament  Arcite, 
though  the  victor,  is  killed,  and  after  an  interval  Palamon  and 
Emelie  are  wedded. 

The  Clerk's  tale  of  the  patient  Griselda  is  from  the  *  Decameron,' 
but  the  tale  had  already  been  turned  into  Latin  by  Petrarch. 

The  Squire's  tale  is  a  fragment  which  deals  with  the  wonders  of 
magic,  and  it  appears  to  be  derived  from  some  Arabian  books,  many 
of  which  were  translated  into  Latin  during  the  middle  ages.  Chau- 
cer gives  in  his  own  person  a  portion  of  the  tale  of  Sir  Thopas,  and 
appears  in  it  to  ridicule  the  long  and  tedious  romances  which  were 
then  fashionable. 

Contemporaries  and  Followers  of  Chaucer. — John  Gower  died  eight 
years  later  than  Chaucer.  He  was  of  good  family,  had  lands  in 
Kent,  and  was  a  benefactor  of  St.  Mary  Overie,  where  he  lies 
buried.  •  His  chief  works  were  '  Speculum  Meditantis  '  in  French, 
'  Vox  Clamantis'  in  Latin,  and  '  Confcssio  Amantis  '  in  English. 
The  latter  poem  is  a  dialogue  between  a  lover  and  his  confessor.  It 
is  very  long  and  contains  many  stories  well  told.  It  also  contains 
several  allusions  to  his  friendship  with  Chaucer. 

Thomas  Occleve  was  a  young  man  when  Chaucer  died,  and  he 
mourned  for  him  as  his  dear  master.  His  poems  are  of  little  merit, 
but  on  the  manuscript  of  one  of  them  he  has  painted  the  best  por- 
trait of  Chaucer  which  we  possess. 

John  Lydgate  was  of  about  the  same  age  with  Occleve,  but 
possessed  more  genius.  He  was  a  monk  of  Bury,  had  travelled, 
and  was  familiar  with  the  literature  of  France  and  Italy.  He  wrote 
many  poems,  and  they  enjoyed  great  popularity.  His  chief  works 
were  the  '  Fall  of  Princes,'  the  '  Troy  Boke,'  and  the  '  Story  of 
Thebes.'  The  last  is  introduced  as  an  additional '  Canterbury  Tale/ 
Some  of  his  minor  poems,  like  the  *  London  Lyckpeny,'  give  plea- 
sant pictures  of  the  manners  of  the  time. 

The  Fifteenth  Century. — This  century  is  one  of  the  most  barren 


578      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

in  the  literary  history  of  England  and  of  Europe.  Hugh  Carnpeden, 
Thomas  Chestre,  John  Harding,  Juliana  Berners,  and  Henry 
Bradshaw  wrote  poems  which  are  forgotten  and  deserve  to  be 
forgotten.  Two  reasons  for  this  intellectual  slumber  have  been 
suggested  :  (1)  the  scholastic  philosophy  had  for  three  centuries 
captivated  the  best  intellects  of  Europe,  but  it  was  now  found 
to  be  barren  and  unsatisfying ;  (2)  innovations  in  religion  were 
sternly  repressed  and  the  spirit  of  inquiry  was  checked.  In  the 
preceding  century  Wyclif  and  his  followers  set  an  example  of  a 
simpler  faith  and  purer  life,  but  the  new  House  of  Lancaster 
persecuted  the  Lollards  and  postponed  the  Reformation  for  a 
century. 

Invention  of  Printing. — This  is  the  glory  of  the  second  half  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  The  inventor  was  Guttenberg  of  Mentz, 
who  in  1455  printed  the  beautiful  Mazarin  Latin  Bible.  The  new 
art  was  brought  into  England  by  Caxton,  who  was  born  in  Kent 
about  1422,  was  apprenticed  to  a  London  mercer,  was  sent  to  the 
Low  Countries,  and  remained  there  for  thirty  years  in  positions  of 
trust.  He  then  entered  the  service  of  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy, 
and  began  to  translate  books  from  the  French  into  English,  and  in 
order  to  multiply  copies  he  mastered  the  new  art  of  printing.  His 
'  Eecuyell  of  the  Historyes  of  Troye,'  and  the  '  Game  and  Playe  of 
the  Chesse,'  were  probably  printed  at  Bruges,  but  in  1477  he  issued 
from  his  press,  in  the  Abbey  at  Westminster,  *  The  Dictes  and 
Notable  Wyse  Sayenges  of  the  Phylosophers.'  From  that  time 
till  his  death,  in  1491,  Caxton  printed  and  translated  many  works, 
and  was  in  great  favour  with  nobles  and  kings.  He  gratified  then- 
tastes  in  his  selection  of  books  to  be  printed,  and  there  is  no  Bible 
in  the  list. 

The  Morte  6V Arthur  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  Caxton 's 
books.  He  tells  us  in  the  preface  that  many  noble  men,  and 
especially  King  Edward  IV.,  urged  him  to  print  the  life  of  King 
Arthur,  who  was  a  greater  hero  than  Charlemagne  or  Godfrey,  or 
any  other  of  the  nine  worthies.  The  work  was  not  written  by 
Caxton,  but  by  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  of  whom  little  is  known,  but 
who  was  probably  a  priest.  He  translated  and  compiled  the  work 
from  various  French  romances,  of  which  the  finest  was  that  of 
1  Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake.'  Malory's  work  was  finished  about 
1470,  and  it  was  printed  in  1485. 

Chevy  Chase. — Several  ballads  of  great  beauty  were  composed 
in  the  fifteenth  century  in  the  north  of  England,  but  the  authors 
are  unknown.  Of  these  the  finest  is  that  of  Chevy  Chase,  which 
has  been  highly  praised  by  Ben  Jonson,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and 
others. 

It  describes  Earl  Percy  marching  out  of  Northumberland  with 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  579 

a  great  band  of  archers  to  hunt  in  the  Cheviot,  in  despite  of 
Douglas,  the  Warden  of  the  Scottish  Marches.  The  hunt  begins, 
but  before  noon  the  Douglas  comes  marching  by  the  Tweed  with 
two  thousand  spearmen.  The  battle  began  and  raged  till  night ; 
both  leaders  were  slain,  and  only  a  scanty  remnant  on  either  side 
was  left.  There  was  great  lamentation  in  Edinburgh  and  London 
when  news  of  the  battle  came. 

Early  Scottish  Poetry. — John  Barbour  came  as  a  student  to 
Oxford  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  He  afterwards  became  Arch- 
deacon of  Aberdeen,  and  wrote  the  epic  poem  of  '  The  Bruce.' 
It  is  in  twenty  books,  and  it  describes  the  perils  and  triumphs  of 
the  Scottish  hero,  and  it  finishes  with  his  death  and  the  wedding  of 
his  son,  Prince  David. 

Barbour  died  in  1395,  and  in  that  year  was  born  the  poet- 
king,  James  I.  At  the  age  of  ten,  while  on  a  voyage  to  France, 
he  was  captured  and  brought  to  England,  where  he  remained  in 
captivity  till  1424.  He  was  kindly  treated  and  carefully  edu- 
cated, and  he  became  an  admirer  and  imitator  of  Chaucer.  Hia 
chief,  if  not  his  only  poem,  is  called  the  '  Kingis  Quhair,'  and  in 
it  he  describes,  in  the  manner  of  Chaucer,  how  he  first  saw  from 
the  window  of  Windsor  Tower  the  lady  who  became  his  wife. 

Hawes  and  Skelton. — Stephen  Hawes,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII., 
wrote  the  '  Passetyme  of  Pleasure,'  after  the  model  of  Chaucer's 
*  Komaunt  of  the  Bose.'  It  is  a  picture  of  the  life  and  training  of 
an  ideal  knight.  The  language  is  musical,  but  the  story  is  rather 
wearisome.  Graunde  Amoure,  the  hero,  seeks  and  at  last  wins 
La  Belle  Pucell,  and  in  the  course  of  the  poem  the  Arts  and 
Sciences,  Courtesy,  Old  Age,  and  many  other  abstractions,  appear 
as  persons. 

John  Skelton,  poet  laureate  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII., 
wrote  'rude  railing  rimes,'  attacking  vigorously  the  corruptions 
of  the  clergy.  In  the  '  Boke  of  Colin  Cloute  '  the  luxury  of  the 
bishops  is  described,  and  in  the  poem  'Why  come  ye  nat  to 
Courte  ? '  he  fiercely  attacks  the  pride  and  insolence  of  Wolsey. 
His  '  Phyllyp  Sparowe  '  is  an  elegy  on  a  pet  bird  belonging  to  a 
nun. 

Dunbar  and  Douglas. — The  Scotch  poets  of  the  first  half  of  the 
sixteenth  century  are  the  truest  successors  of  Chaucer.  Dunbar 
wrote  in  1503  a  fine  poem,  '  The  Thistle  and  the  Eose,'  to  celebrate 
the  marriage  of  James  IV.  to  Margaret,  daughter  of  Henry  VII. 
As  in  Chaucer's  '  Parlement  of  Briddes,'  the  poet  describes  Nature 
summoning  all  beasts,  and  birds,  and  flowers,  to  meet  her  on 
a  May  morning.  The  lion  of  Scotland,  the  rose  of  England, 
and  the  Scotch  thistle  are  exalted  above  all  other  beasts  and 

PP2 


58c      HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

flowers.    Dunbar    also  wrote    *  The    Golden    Terge '    and    '  The 
Daunce.' 

Gawen  Douglas  was  a  son  of  the  great  Earl  of  Angus.  He 
entered  the  Church,  and  Queen  Margaret  became  his  friend  and 
patroness,  and  he  was  raised  to  the  bishopric  of  Dunkeld.  He 
incurred  the  enmity  of  the  Duke  of  Albany  and  was  forced  to 
take  refuge  in  England,  and  he  died  in  London  in  1522.  His  chief 
work  is  a  translation  of  Virgil's  ^Eneid,  and  his  introductions  to 
the  different  books  are  original  poems  of  much  beauty.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  introduces  the  poet-bishop  in  '  Mannion.' 

Berners,  Tyndale.  -Lord  Berners,  who  translated  Froissart,  was 
in  his  youth  a  friend  and  companion  of  Henry  VIII.  In  1520 
he  was  made  governor  of  Calais,  and  he  died  there  in  1533.  In 
beauty  of  language  the  translation  often  excels  the  original. 
William  Tyndale  was  born  in  1477,  and  after  studying  at  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  he  entered  the  Church,  and  was  chaplain  to  a  knight 
in  Gloucestershire.  He  afterwards  went  to  Germany,  and  at  Wit- 
temberg  he  completed  his  translation  of  the  New  Testament.  He 
was  bitterly  attacked  by  Sir  Thomas  More,  and  he  defended  himself 
in  a  work  called  '  Obedience  of  a  Christian  Man.'  Many  attempts 
were  made  to  destroy  Tyndale,  and  in  1536  his  enemies  compassed 
his  death.  His  translation  is  very  beautiful,  and  it  is  the  basis  of 
our  authorised  version. 

Sir  David  Lyndsay  was  the  most  popular  of  the  early  Scottish 
poets.  At  about  the  age  of  twenty  he  was  in  service  at  court, 
and  was  chief  usher  to  the  infant  King  James  V.  His  wife  Janet 
was  also  in  service  at  court.  His  chief  works  are  '  The  Dreme,' 
which  bears 'some  resemblance  to  Dante's  great  poem,  and  which 
contains  notices  of  the  poet's  life ;  the  '  Satire  of  the  Three 
Estates,'  which  is  a  rude  example  of  the  early  drama;  and  the 
'  Monarchie,'  in  which  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  Experi- 
ence and  a  Courtier  the  story  of  the  world  is  traced  from  the 
Creation  to  the  Fall  of  Jerusalem,  and  from  thence  to  the  Day 
of  Judgment.  Among  his  minor  poems  is  a  description  of  the 
murder  of  Cardinal  Beaton.  Sir  Walter  Scott  introduces  Lyndsay 
in  '  Marmion.' 

The  New  Learning— Ascham.— The  capture  of  Constantinople  in 
1453  by  the  Turks  caused  Greek  learning  to  be  dispersed  over 
Western  Europe.  England  shared  in  this  revival  of  learning,  and 
in  1511  St.  John's  College  was  founded  in  Cambridge,  and  speedily 
became  famous.  One  of  the  most  illustrious  pupils  of  this  college 
was  Roger  Ascham,  who  entered  it  in  1530,  and  in  1538  he  was 
appointed  Greek  reader.  He  wrote  *  Toxophilus  or  the  Schole  of 
Shooting  '  in  1545,  and  received  a  pension  from  King  Henry  VIII., 
and  he  was  soon  afterwards  appointed  private  tutor  to  the  Princess 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  581 

Elizabeth.  In  1550  he  went  abroad  as  secretary  to  the  ambassador 
to  Charles  V.,  and  visited  Louvain  and  Cologne  and  Venice  and  other 
famous  places.  After  his  return  he  was  appointed  Latin  secretary 
to  Queen  Mary,  and  then  once  more  private  tutor  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  she  greatly  regretted  his  death  in  1568.  During  his  last 
few  years  he  wrote  '  The  Scholemaster,'  which  is  his  most  interest- 
ing work. 

Italian  Influence — Lord  Surrey. — In  the  sixteenth  century  it  was 
a  common  custom  to  send  young  English  gentlemen  into  Italy  to 
be  educated,  and  Ascham  speaks  of  the  evil  influences  to  which 
they  were  there  exposed.  Petrarch  was  the  favourite  poet  of  Italy, 
and  his  sonnets  became  the  great  models  of  composition.  In  1557 
Tottel  the  printer  published  a  book  of  '  Songes  and  Sonnettes,'  the 
authors  of  which  were  various  gentlemen  of  the  Court  of  Henry 
VIII.,  and  chief  among  them  were  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  and  Henry, 
Earl  of  Surrey.  The  latter  was  in  his  youth  a  companion  of  the 
young  Duke  of  Richmond,  King  Henry's  natural  son,  and  in  one 
of  his  poems  he  recalls  the  happy  days  they  spent  together  at 
Windsor.  Most  of  Surrey's  sonnets  are  in  praise  of  the  fair 
Geraldine,  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Kildare.  Surrey  also 
made  metrical  versions  of  parts  of  the  Bible,  and  translated  two 
books  of  the  ^Eneid. 

^/  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  born  at  Penshurst  in  1554,  and  Ben  Jonson 
celebrates  the  oak  which  was  planted  at  his  birth.  As  a  youth  he 
was  remarkable  for  his  grave  and  dignified  bearing.  He  was  in 
Paris  at  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  in  1572,  and  he  travelled 
through  other  parts  of  Europe.  He  was  a  favourite  with  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  who  would  gladly  have  had  him  for  son-in-law.  But 
the  earl's  daughter  was  married  to  Lord  Rich,  and  Sidney's  grief 
is  expressed  in  the  series  of  beautiful  sonnets  of  Astrophel  and 
Stella.  In  1580  he  wrote  at  Wilton  for  his  sister's  diversion  the 
famous  romance  of  the  '  Arcadia.'  The  story  is  long  and  involved, 
but  the  language  is  melodious  and  many  of  the  descriptions  are 
very  beautiful.  In  1581  he  wrote  the  'Apology  of  Poetrie,'  in 
answer  to  the  *  Schoole  of  Abuse  '  of  Stephen  Gosson.  In  1586 
Sidney  fell  fighting  at  Zutphen  against  the  Spaniards  in  aid  of  the 
Dutch. 

The  Keformers.  —Hugh  Latimer  was  the  son  of  a  Leicestershire 
yeoman,  and  was  born  in  1491.  He  was  sent  to  Cambridge,  and 
studied  the  scholastic  philosophy  and  neglected  the  Bible  till  his 
heart  was  touched  by  the  words  of  the  martyr  Bilney.  He  preached 
before  King  Henry  VIII. ,  and  was  made  Bishop  of  Worcester 
in  1534,  but  he  resigned  the  dignity  in  1539.  In  the  reign  of 
Edward  VI.  he  was  again  in  favour,  and  often  preached  before 
the  king  or  at  St.  Paul's  Cross.  During  the  last  few  years  of 


582       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Edward's  reign  he  was  in  Lincolnshire,  and  a  number  of  the  ser- 
mons he  preached  there  have  been  preserved.  He  was  burnt  at 
Oxford  in  1555.  The  language  of  his  sermons  is  vigorous  and 
effective,  and  they  are  full  of  homely  wit  and  racy  anecdotes  and 
illustrations. 

John  Knox  was  born  in  1505,  and  like  Latimer  he  was  at  first 
fond  of  the  scholastic  philosophy,  but  was  converted  by  the  example 
of  the  martyr  Wishart.  After  the  death  of  Cardinal  Beaton,  Knox 
with  others  took  refuge  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Andrews,  and  there  he 
received  his  call  to  the  ministry.  The  Castle  was  besieged  and 
taken  by  the  French,  and  for  about  two  years  Knox  was  a  prisoner 
in  the  galleys.  From  1549  till  the  death  of  Edward  VI.  Knox 
was  in  England,  and  was  in  great  favour  with  the  king.  From 
1553  to  1559  he  was  a  wanderer  over  Europe,  and  he  was  then 
recalled  to  Scotland  by  the  Lords  of  the  Congregation,  and  he 
laboured  unweariedly  as  Minister  of  Edinburgh  till  his  death 
in  1572.  His  '  History  of  the  He  formation  of  the  Church  in 
Scotland'  contains  many  striking  pictures  of  the  times.  His 
'First  Blast  of  the  Trumpet  against  the  monstrous  Eegiment 
of  Women '  gave  great  offence  to  Elizabeth,  though  it  was  not 
directed  against  her. 

Euphuism.— The  '  Euphues '  of  John  Lyly  enjoyed  a  wonderful 
popularity  Tmtil  Italian  influence  gave  way  before  that  of  the  French 
literature  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  Lyly  was  attached  in  some 
capacity  to  Elizabeth's  court,  and  he  wrote  some  six  or  eight  plays, 
which  were  often  acted  before  the  queen.  The  4  Euphues  '  is  a 
story  of  a  young  Athenian  gentleman  and  the  adventures  he  met 
with  in  a  visit  to  Naples.  He  gained  a  bosom  friend,  Philautus, 
and  then  robbed  him  of  his  lover,  Lucilla.  The  lady  is  false  to  both, 
the  friends  are  reconciled,  and  Euphues  returns  to  Athens  and 
philosophy.  The  peculiarities  of  Lyly's  style  are  a  perpetual 
striving  after  alliteration  and  antithesis,  and  a  most  ingenious  string- 
ing together  of  similes. 

Hooker. — Hooker's  life  has  been  charmingly  written  by  Izaak 
Walton,  who  tells  of  the  kindness  Bishop  Jewel  had  for  him,  and 
also  of  his  ill  luck  in  marrying.  He  was  appointed  Master  of  the 
Temple  at  a  time  when  the  Puritan  party  were  striving  to  remodel 
the  Church  of  England,  and  the  controversies  into  which  he  was 
led  caused  him  to  determine  to  write  a  sober  exposition  and  defence 
of  the  position  of  the  Church  of  England.  The  first  four  books  of 
his  great  work,  the  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity,'  were  written  at  Boscum, 
near  Sarum,  and  were  published  in  1594.  The  rest  of  the  work  was 
written  at  Bishopsborne,  near  Canterbury,  where  Hooker  died  in 
1600.  The  fifth  book  was  published  in  1597,  but  the  last  three 
not  till  1662,  and  it  is  thought  they  are  not  in  the  state  in 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  583 

which  the  author  left  them.  The  language  of  the  '  Ecclesiastical 
Polity '  is  nobler  and  more  majestic  than  that  of  any  preceding 
prose  work. 

Spenser. — Spenser,  like  Chaucer,  was  a  Londoner,  but  was  dis- 
tantly connected  with  the  noble  family  of  the  Spencers.  His  first 
great  work  was  the  '  Shepheard's  Calender '  which  gained  him 
hearty  and  immediate  recognition  as  *  the  new  poet.'  It  is  in 
twelve  eclogues,  one  for  each  month,  and  real  persons  and  states 
of  society  are  described  under  the  allegory  of  shepherd  life.  In 
1580  Spenser  went  with  Lord  Grey  to  Ireland,  where  he  remained 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  where  he  wrote  the  *  Faerie  Queene.' 
The  first  three  books  were  finished  in  1589,  and  the  poet  was 
visited  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  persuaded  him  to  come  with 
it  to  London  to  present  it  to  the  queen.  Spenser  describes  this 
visit  in  a  poem  called  '  Colin  Clouts  come  Home  again.'  In  1594 
Spenser  was  married,  and  his  '  Epithalamium  '  is  the  finest  mar- 
riage ode  in  any  language.  Three  other  books  of  the  '  Faerie 
Queene  '  were  written,  and  a  fragment  of  a  seventh  book.  In  1598, 
in  the  great  Irish  rebellion,  Spenser's  house  was  burnt,  and  he 
and  his  wife  barely  escaped  with  their  lives.  He  died  in  London 
in  the  next  year. 

The  Early  English  Drama. — As  early  as  the  eleventh  century 
plays  of  the  '  Passion  '  or  of  the  lives  of  Saints  were  performed  in 
monasteries  by  the  monks  and  choristers.  At  a  latter  date  the  guilds 
of  various  cities  performed  such  plays,  and  a  series  of  forty-three 
Coventry  plays  has  been  preserved.  When  Elizabeth  visited  Kenil- 
worth  in  1575  the  people  of  Coventry  performed  their  play  of  '  Hock 
Tuesday '  before  her,  and  Shakspere  may  have  been  one  of  the 
spectators.  There  were  also  companies  of  professional  players  who 
travelled  the  country  under  the  protection  of  some  nobleman's 
name.  In  London  the  chief  players  were  the  choir  children  of 
*  Paules  '  and  of  the  '  Chapel  Royal.'  At  their  head  was  Eichard 
Edwards,  who  was  a  famous  poet,  player,  and  singer,  and  who 
died  in  1566.  Plays  were  acted  in  London  at  first  in  the  yards 
of  inns,  but  in  1575  the  Puritans  expelled  the  players  from  the 
city,  and  theatres  were  built  beyond  the  '  liberties.'  We  are  told 
that  the  theatres  were  crowded  on  Sundays  while  the  churches 
were  empty. 

Christopher  Marlowe  was  the  greatest  of  the  immediate  pre- 
decessors of  Shakspere.  He  was  born  in  1564,  and  his  first  great 
drama,  'Tamburlaine  the  Great,'  was  performed  in  1588.  The 
language  and  the  plot  are  very  extravagant,  but  the  play  has 
many  magnificent  passages.  Marlowe  also  wrote  '  Faustus,'  '  The 
Jew  of  Malta,'  '  Edward  II.,'  and  fragments  of  other  plays.  He 
is  also  thought  to  be  the  author  of  parts  of  some  of  Shakspere's 


584       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

earliest  plays.  Izaak  Walton  claims  for  him  the  pretty  song, 
'  Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love.'  Marlowe  led  a  wild  reck- 
less life,  and  he  was  killed  in  a  tavern  brawl  in  Deptford  in  May 
1593. 

Shakspere  was  born  in  April  1564.  His  father  was  chief  magis- 
trate of  Stratford  in  1568,  and  appears  to  have  been  a  small  landed 
proprietor.  William  was  sent  to  the  Stratford  Grammar  School, 
and  there  his  school  education  ended,  and  at  the  age  of  fourteen  he 
was  probably  required  to  help  his  father,  who  was  then  greatly 
reduced  in  circumstances.  In  1582  Shakspere  married  Anne 
Hathaway,  who  was  seven  years  his  senior,  and  a  few  years  later  he 
went  to  London,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  at  Stratford.  In  1589 
his  name  appears  in  the  list  of  players  in  the  '  Blackfriars  '  theatre, 
and  here  his  '  Love's  Labour's  Lost '  and  other  early  plays  were 
performed.  Shakspere's  success  as  a  poet  excited  the  envy  of  his 
fellow  poets,  and  one  of  them,  Robert  Greene,  speaks  of  him  as  '  an 
upstart  crow  beautified  with  our  feathers.'  In  1591  Spenser,  in  his 
poem  of  the  '  Teares  of  the  Muses,'  has  some  very  beautiful  lines 
which  seem  to  refer  to  Shakspere.  In  1593  he  dedicated  his  poem 
of  *  Venus  and  Adonis '  to  the  young  Earl  of  Southampton,  and 
in  the  following  year  the  '  Lucrece '  was  dedicated  to  the  same 
patron.  In  1598  Francis  Meres  bears  witness  to  the  growing  fame 
of  Shakspere,  and  enumerates  a  number  of  his  plays.  In  the  same 
year  his  intimacy  and  friendship  with  Ben  Jonson  began.  The 
accession  of  the  new  king,  James  I.,  brought  fresh  honour  to 
Shakspere,  but  he  appears  to  have  retired  not  very  long  afterwards 
to  Stratford.  He  died  in  1616,  and  his  wife  outlived  him  seven 
years. 

Shakspere's  Sonnets  are  specially  interesting  as  they  seem  to 
refer  to  real  incidents  in  his  life.  The  sonnets  are  154  in  num- 
ber, and  they  are  dedicated  to  '  Mr.  W.  H.,'  whom  some  take  to 
be  the  young  Earl  of  Pembroke,  others  the  young  Earl  of  South- 
ampton. Many  of  the  sonnets  seem  to  be  addressed  to  some 
high-born  and  beautiful  youth  in  whose  society  Shakspere  took 
delight 

Shakspere's  Earlier  Plays. — The  true  chronology  of  the  plays 
cannot  now  be  certainly  fixed,  as  the  first  authorised  collection 
was  published  seven  years  after  the  poet's  death.  One  of  his 
earliest  plays  was  the  '  Henry  VI.,'  of  which  the  second  and  third 
parts  are  recastings  of  two  older  plays,  which  have  been  pre- 
served. It  is  thought  that  Greene,  Marlowe,  and  Shakspere  were 
joint  authors  of  these  older  plays.  '  Eichard  III.'  also  is  thought 
to  be  one  of  Shakspere's  early  plays  written  while  he  was  still 
under  the  influence  of  Marlowe,  In  *  Eichard  II.'  Shakspere 
entered  on  a  path  more  natural  to  his  own  genius,  and  he  com- 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  585 

pleted  the  series  with  '  Henry  IV.'  and  '  Henry  V.'  At  the  same 
time  he  produced  the  series  of  beautiful  comedies,  '  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,'  '  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,'  '  Twelfth  Night,'  and 
others,  which  are  poetical  rather  than  dramatic,  and  in  which 
the  outpouring  of  beautiful  fancies  is  so  great  as  to  be  almost  a 
defect. 

Shakspere's  Later  Plays. — The  plays  written  after  1600  are  not 
less  beautiful  than  the  earlier  ones,  but  they  are  filled  with  a  deeper 
and  sadder  meaning.  It  seems  to  have  been  '  a  period  of  Shakspere's 
life  when  his  heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and  ill  content  with  the  world 
or  his  own  conscience.'  The  plays  of  'As  You  Like  It'  and 
4  Measure  for  Measure  '  seem  to  reflect  this  feeling.  The  Koman 
plays  and  the  four  great  tragedies.  '  Hamlet,'  '  Othello,'  '  Lear,' 
'  Macbeth,'  belong  also  to  this  period.  '  The  Winter's  Tale  '  and 
'  The  Tempest '  are  two  of  the  poet's  very  latest  works,  and  in  them 
he  seems  once  more  to  be  at  peace  with  himself  and  to  delight  in 
depicting  scenes  of  romantic  beauty.  Some  of  the  speeches  of 
Prospero  in  '  The  Tennoest '  read  like  the  poet's  farewell  to  the 
world. 

Baleigh. — Sir  Walter  Kaleigh  was  great  in  action  rather  than  as 
a  writer.  He  was  born  in  Devonshire  in  1552,  and  in  1580  he 
went  with  Lord  Grey  to  Ireland  and  gained  great  renown  for 
valour  and  judgment.  On  his  return  to  court  in  1582  he  was 
received  with  great  favour,  and  the  queen  conferred  great  riches 
on  him.  In  1591  he  wrote  an  account  of  the  last  fight  of  the 
*  Eevenge,'  which  Sir  Eichard  Grenville  defended  with  such  despe- 
rate valour  against  the  Spaniards.  In  1595  he  went  to  Guiana  to 
seek  the  famous  city  of  El  Dorado,  and  on  his  return  wrote  an 
interesting  account  of  his  voyage.  Raleigh's  good  fortune  ended 
with  the  queen's  reign.  He  was  charged  with  conspiring  against 
the  king,  and  was  condemned  to  die.  His  life  was  spared,  but  he 
remained  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower  from  1603  to  1616,  and  there  he 
wrote  his  '  History  of  the  World.'  When  he  was  released  he  was 
permitted  to  go  on  an  expedition  to  Guiana,  and  on  his  return  he 
was  executed. 

Bacon. — Francis  Bacon  was  the  son  of  the  Lord  Keeper  of  the 
Great  Seal,  and  as  a  boy  he  engaged  the  attention  of  the  queen,  who 
used  to  call  him  '  The  young  Lord  Keeper.'  When  he  was  nineteen 
his  father  died,  and  his  prospects  of  advancement  were  greatly 
clouded.  Lord  Burleigh,  though  a  kinsman,  seemed  to  distrust 
him  and  kept  him  in  the  background.  The  Earl  of  Essex  was  his 
one  friend  at  court,  but  the  shipwreck  which  he  made  of  his  own 
fortunes  prevented  him  from  effectually  helping  Bacon.  In  1597 
Bacon  published  the  first  edition  of  his  famous  Essays,  and  other 
editions  with  increased  numbers  of  essays  were  published  in  1612 


586        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

and  m  1625.  "With  the  accession  of  James,  Bacon's  fortunes 
brightened.  He  was  one  of  the  weightiest  speakers  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  he  was  knighted  by  the  king.  In  1605  he  presented  to 
James  his  two  books  of  '  The  Advancement  of  Learning.'  In  later 
years  he  rewrote  this  work  in  Latin  and  added  to  it  the  famous 
'Novum  Organon.'  In  1616  Bacon  became  Lord  Chancellor, 
with  the  title  of  Baron  Verulam,  and  four  years  later  he  fell.  His 
public  life  was  now  over,  and  he  gave  himself  up  more  entirely  to 
his  scientific  and  literary  pursuits.  He  wrote  his  'History  of 
Henry  VII.,'  a  work  filled  with  passages  of  grave  and  pleasant 
irony.  He  died  at  Highgate  in  April  1626.  Aubrey,  the  anti- 
quary, gives  in  his  gossiping  manner  some  interesting  peculiarities 
of  Bacon. 

Ben  Jonson  (1573-1637),  the  greatest  of  Shakspere's  companions, 
was  born  nine  years  later,  and  died  twenty-one  years  later,  than  the 
great  poet.  He  was  born  in  London,  but  his  father  came  from  Annan 
dale.  He  was  a  boy  at  Westminster  School,  and  he  gratefully  records 
his  obligations  to  his  master,  Camden,  the  antiquary.  It  is  doubt- 
ful whether  he  was  at  the  University,  but  it  is  certain  that  he  served 
in  the  wars  in  the  Netherlands.  On  his  return  to  London  he  became 
an  actor  and  play-writer.  After  killing  in  a  duel  a  fellow-actor  he 
joined  Shakspere's  company,  and  in  1598  his  first  play,  *  Every  Man 
in  his  Humour,'  was  brought  out. 

In  this  and  in  his  other  plays  Jonson  is  careful  to  maintain  the 
unities  of  place  and  time,  which  Shakspere  generally  disregarded. 
His  chief  characters,  too,  are  intended  to  exemplify  some  peculiarity 
which  by  its  excess  becomes  a  vice,  and  these  peculiarities  he  calls 
humours. 

Between  1598  and  1614  Jonson  wrote  four  other  great  plays, 
•The  Alchemist,'  '  The  Fox,'  '  The  Silent  Woman,'  and  '  Bartholo- 
mew Fair.'  In  '  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,'  the  most  original  and 
amusing  character  is  the  braggart  Captain  Bobadil.  In  the 
'  Alchemist '  there  is  the  powerfully  drawn  character  of  Sir  Epicure 
Mammon,'  and  in  '  Bartholomew  Fair '  the  Puritans  are  amusingly 
caricatured  in  the  preacher  Zeal-of-the-land  Busy. 

Jonson  wrote  several  plays  after  1614  ;  but  no  masterpiece ;  and 
the  ill -success  of  one  caused  him  to  write  an  indignant  ode  beginning 
'  Come  leave  the  loathed  stage.' 

Jonson  also  wrote  many  masques  for  court  festivals,  and  Inigo 
Jones  the  architect  devised  the  scenery.  These  masques  are  not 
now  interesting  except  for  the  sparkling  songs  which  are  scattered 
through  them. 

In  1618  Jonson  travelled  on  foot  to  Scotland,  and  spent  some 
little  time  with  Druinmond  of  Hawthornden,  who  has  left  a  record 
of  his  conversation. 

Jonson  lived  on  terms  of  friendship  with  the  best  and  noblest  ill 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE     587 

the  land,  and  he  recorded  the  veneration  he  felt  for  Shakspere  in  the 
verses  prefixed  to  the  folio  edition  of  1623.  The  poets  Herrick  and 
Beaumont  celebrated  the  merry  meetings  in  the  London  taverns, 
where  Jonson  reigned  supreme.  His  life  was,  however,  a  careless 
and  reckless  one,  and  in  his  latter  years  he  suffered  want  and 
sickness. 

Only  a  small  part  of  Jonson's  work  is  worthy  of  comparison 
with  Shakspere 's,  and  he  has  no  excellently  drawn  female  character. 
Some  of  his  lyrics  are  excellent,  and  so  also  are  his  epitaphs, 
especially  the  one  on  the  Countess  of  Pembroke. 

The  Minor  Dramatists  of  Shakspere's  Age. — Within  the  half-century 
from  1590  to  1640  '  nearly  all  that  we  have  of  excellence  in  serious 
dramatic  literature  was  produced,'  and  in  this  period,  besides 
Shakspere  and  Jonson,  there  is  a  crowd  of  other  writers  worthy  to 
be  mentioned. 

Thomas  Dekker  (1570-1637)  wrote  many  plays,  and  seems  to  have 
led  a  life  of  alternate  want  and  merriment.  Charles  Lamb  said  of 
him  that  *  Dekker  had  poetry  enough  for  anything  '  He  assisted 
other  dramatists  with  some  of  the  best  of  their  plays.  His  own 
chief  play  is  '  Old  Fortunatus,'  with  the  story  of  the  wonderful 
purse  and  wishing- cap. 

Thomas  Heywood  was  a  University  man  and  a  Fellow  of  Peter- 
house.  He  was  a  very  prolific  writer,  and  he  speaks  of  two  hundred 
and  twenty  plays  which  he  wrote  wholly  or  in  chief  part.  Charles 
Lamb  calls  him  '  a  sort  of  prose  Shakspere,'  and  especially  praises 
his  characters  of  country  gentlemen.  His  chief  plays  are '  A  Woman 
Killed  with  Kindness,'  'The  English  Traveller,'  and  '  The  Fair  Maid 
of  the  West.' 

John  Webster  came  nearer  than  all  his  fellows  to  Shakspere  in 
his  power  of  delineating  tragic  scenes  and  characters.  Eight  of  his 
plays  have  been  preserved,  and  the  two  greatest  are  *  Vittoria 
Corombona  *  and  '  The  Duchess  of  Malfi.'  Each  gives  a  terrible 
picture  of  the  depravity  of  Italian  society  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  in  each  there  are  many  pathetic  scenes. 

Philip  Massinger  (1583-1638)  was  connected  in  some  sort  of 
honourable  dependence  with  the  noble  family  of  Pembroke.  He 
went  to  the  University  of  Oxford,  and  it  is  thought  that  he  there 
became  a  Roman  Catholic.  Little  is  known  of  his  life  in  London 
as  a  writer.  He  wrote  many  plays  which  have  been  lost,  but  his 
best  are  '  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,'  '  The  Great  Duke  of 
Florence,'  and  '  The  Virgin  Martyr.'  In  the  first  of  these  is  the 
powerfully  drawn  character  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach. 

Francis  Beaumont  and  John  Fletcher  were  the  most  famous  of 
the  followers  of  Shakspere.  Unlike  their  companions,  they  be- 
longed to  the  higher  ranks,  and  Dryden  thought  they  excelled  even 


588       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

Shakspere  in  the  imitation  of  the  conversation  of  gentlemen.  It  is 
almost  impossible  in  their  joint  works  to  separate  the  parts  belonging 
to  each,  but  it  is  thought  that  Beaumont's  work  shows  the  greater 
depth  of  imagination,  while  the  light  and  graceful  scenes  are 
Fletcher's. 

Beaumont  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  Ben  Jonson,  and  Fletcher 
took  part  with  Shakspere  in  -writing  *  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen ' 
and  '  Henry  VIII.'  The  best  plays  written  jointly  by  the  two 
poets  are  '  Philaster,'  '  The  Maid's  Tragedy,'  and  '  A  King  and  no 
King.'  Fletcher  outlived  Beaumont,  and  wrote  among  other  plays 
the  beautiful  pastoral  *  The  Faithful  Shepherdess.' 

Other  dramatic  writers  of  this  period  are  Chapman,  Middleton, 
Ford,  Tourneur,  and  Shirley. 

Two  brothers,  Edward  and  George  Herbert. — George  Herbert's 
life  has  been  pleasantly  written  by  Isaac  Walton.  He  was  one 
of  seven  brothers,  and  his  father  died  when  George  was  an  infant, 
but  his  mother  reared  her  children  well.  George  went  to  West- 
minster School,  and  thence  to  Cambridge,  and  he  was  there  held 
in  great  esteem  by  King  James,  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  and  others. 
After  the  death  of  King  James  he  became  a  clergyman,  and  was  at 
first  rector  of  Layton  Ecclesia,  in  Huntingdonshire,  and  then  on 
account  of  failing  health  he  changed  to  Bemerton,  near  Salisbury. 

While  he  was  in  Huntingdonshire  his  dearest  friend  was  Nicholas 
Ferrar,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  Protestant  nunnery  at  Little 
Gidding,  and  Herbert  on  his  death-bed  in  1633  commended  his 
book  of  poems,  « The  Temple,'  to  the  care  of  Ferrar.  The  book 
contains  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  little  poems,  and  the  best 
are  perhaps  those  on  *  Vertue,'  on  '  Sunday,'  and  on  '  Peace.'  Some 
of  the  poems  are  rather  quaint  than  beautiful. 

Edward  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  was  the  elder  brother  of 
George,  and  outlived  him  fifteen  years.  He  was  one  of  the  earli- 
est and  ablest  of  English  freethinkers,  and  he  wrote  a  Latin  work, 
*  De  Veritate,'  on  the  subject  of  natural  religion.  He  wrote  also  a 
'  History  of  Henry  VIII.,'  but  his  best-known  work  is  his  autobio- 
graphy, which  lay  in  manuscript  for  a  century  after  his  death.  It 
contains  many  interesting  pictures  of  society  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  but  doubts  have  been  felt  as  to  its  trustworthiness. 

Jeremy  Taylor  (1613-1667)  excels  all  the  other  great  writers  and 
preachers  of  the  Church  of  England  in  his  rich  flow  of  imagination  and 
fancy  and  in  the  charm  of  his  language.  He  was  born  in  Cambridge, 
where  his  father  was  a  barber ;  but  Jeremy  entered  the  University, 
and  by  his  excellent  preaching  he  gained  the  notice  and  friendship 
of  Laud.  He  lost  his  rectory  of  Uppingham  when  the  Civil  War 
broke  out,  and  he  joined  King  Charles  at  Oxford.  In  the  dedications 
of  some  of  his  works  he  speaks  of  his  wanderings  and  privations 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE     589 

during  this  time  of  trouble.  With  some  other  dispossessed  clergy- 
men he  opened  a  school  at  Newton  Hall  in  Caermarthenshire,  and 
the  Earl  of  Carberry,  who  lived  at  Golden  Grove,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, became  his  friend  and  patron. 

In  this  retreat  Taylor  composed  his  two  chief  works,  the  '  Liberty 
of  Prophesying  '  and  '  Holy  Living  and  Dying.'  In  1658,  on  the 
invitation  of  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  he  settled  at  Lisburne  in  the 
North  of  Ireland,  and  at  the  Eestoration  he  was  made  bishop  of 
Down  and  Dromore.  Among  other  works  which  he  published  was 
a  year's  course  of  sermons  preached  at  Golden  Grove. 

Two  prose  writers — Burton,  Browne. — Robert  Burton  (1576-1640) 
was  educated  at  Oxford,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in 
the  University  in  seclusion  and  study.  He  was  an  astrologer,  and 
predicted  the  exact  time  of  his  own  death. 

His  life's  work  was  the  writing  of  the  '  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,' 
with  which  he  hoped  to  relieve  his  own  melancholy,  but  it  only 
confirmed  and  strengthened  it.  He  styles  himself  in  his  work 
Democritus  Junior,  and  he  gives  a  long  account  of  the  philosopher 
Democritus  of  Abdera,  whose  life  was  like  his  own. 

The  '  Anatomy  of  Melancholy '  is  one  of  the  strangest  books. 
At  first  sight  it  appears  to  be  little  more  than  a  collection  of  quota- 
tions, but  it  has  always  been  a  fascinating  book  to  thinkers,  and  Dr. 
Johnson  was  especially  fond  of  it.  A  little  poem  which  is  prefixed 
to  the  work  is  thought  to  have  suggested  to  Milton  the  idea  of 
'  L' Allegro  '  and  '  II  Penseroso.' 

Sir  Thomas  Browne  (1605-1682)  was  educated  at  Winchester  and 
Oxford,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  study  and  practice  of  medicine. 
He  travelled  on  the  Continent,  and  took  a  doctor's  degree  at  Leyden 
about  1633.  After  his  return  he  wrote  in  retirement  in  Yorkshire  his 
best  work,  the  '  Beligio  Medici.'  It  was  not  intended  for  publica- 
tion, and  it  got  abroad  by  accident,  but  it  at  once  became  famous, 
and  was  translated  into  several  foreign  languages. 

Browne  then  settled  at  Norwich  as  a  physician,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  his  long  life  there,  and  was  visited  by  some  of  the  most  learned 
men  of  the  time.  In  1671  he  was  knighted  by  Charles  II.  His 
other  chief  works  were  '  Enquiries  into  Vulgar  Errours,'  '  The 
Garden  of  Cyrus,'  and  '  Urn  Burial.' 

John  Milton  (1608-1674)  was  born  in  London,  like  Chaucer  and 
Spenser.  His  forefathers  were  landed  proprietors  in  Oxfordshire, 
but  his  father  was  a  London  scrivener.  John  was  educated  at  St. 
Paul's  School  and  at  Cambridge,  but  his  University  course  was  not 
a  pleasant  one.  On  leaving  Cambridge  he  spent  five  years  in  seclu- 
sion and  study  at  his  father's  house  at  Horton  in  Buckinghamshire. 
Here  he  wrote  '  Comus,'  '  L'Allegro,'  '  II  Penseroso,'  and  '  Lycidas,' 
besides  other  minor  poems. 

In  1638  he  visited  Italy,  and  met  Galileo  at  Florence.  In  1639  he 


590       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

hastened  home  on  account  of  the  political  troubles  that  were  rising, 
and  from  that  time  till  his  death  he  lived  in  London.  His  un- 
fortunate marriage  with  Mary  Powell  took  place  at  this  time,  and 
her  leaving  him  caused  him  to  write  his  fierce  pamphlets  on  divorce. 

In  1641  Milton  published  two  pamphlets  on  '  Reformation  in 
England,'  and  he  followed  these  up  with  further  pamphlets,  in  which 
the  bishops  and  the  principle  of  episcopacy  were  fiercely  attacked. 
In  1644  he  addressed  to  Parliament  his  famous  :  Areopagitica '  in 
defence  of  the  right  of  unlicensed  printing.  In  1649  he  was  appointed 
Latin  Secretary  to  the  new  Government,  and  held  the  office  till  the 
Restoration.  He  wrote  several  Latin  works  in  defence  of  the 
Government,  and  a  few  of  his  sonnets  belong  to  this  time. 

In  1650  he  lost  the  use  of  his  left  eye,  and  two  years  later  he  was 
quite  blind.  His  blindness  is  pathetically  alluded  to  in  several 
passages  of  his  works. 

'  Paradise  Lost '  was  commenced  about  1658,  but  the  idea  was 
conceived  much  earlier.  Milton  at  first  proposed  to  treat  the  '  Fall 
of  Man '  as  a  drama  or  mystery,  and  a  rough  sketch  of  this  drama  still 
exists.  In  1667  the  poem  was  finished  and  published. 

Milton  has  been  greatly  praised  by  some  critics  both  for  the 
choice  of  his  subject  and  for  the  manner  of  the  execution.  Others 
have  condemned  the  plan  of  the  poem  as  lacking  reality  and  human 
interest.  The  unbroken  majesty  and  beauty  of  the  style  is  admitted 
by  all. 

In  his  later  years  Milton  wrote  *  Paradise  Regained '  and '  Samson 
Agonistes,'  and  some  prose  works  of  minor  importance. 

Dr.  Johnson  gives  some  interesting  particulars  of  Milton's 
manner  of  life  in  these  latter  years. 

Isaac  Barrow  (1630-1677)  was  born  in  London,  where  his  father 
was  linendraper  to  Charles  I.,  but  his  uncle  was  a  bishop.  He  was 
a  scholar  at  the  Charterhouse,  but  was  fonder  of  fighting  than  of 
learning,  and  was  careless  in  his  dress. 

In  1645  he  went  to  Cambridge,  and  made  excellent  progress, 
especially  in  physical  science  and  mathematics.  He  continued  a 
staunch  Royalist,  while  the  ruling  powers  of  the  University  were  on 
the  side  of  the  Parliament. 

In  1654  he  travelled  on  the  Continent,  and  went  as  far  as  to 
Constantinople  and  Smyrna.  After  the  Restoration  he  was  ap- 
pointed Professor  of  Greek  and  of  Mathematics  at  Cambridge,  and 
the  latter  post  he  resigned  in  1669  to  his  pupil  Isaac  Newton. 

In  1672  Charles  II.  appointed  him  Master  of  Trinity,  styling 
him  *  the  best  scholar  in  England.'  He  was  already  one  of  the 
King's  chaplains,  and  Charles  listened  attentively  to  his  sermons,  and 
passed  a  shrewd  judgment  upon  them. 

Barrow's  sermons  were  published  after  his  death  by  Tillotson. 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE     591 

They  are  models  of  manly  eloquence,  and  the  elder  and  younger 
Pitt  studied  and  greatly  admired  them. 

Two  historians— Clarendon,  Burnet. — The  Earl  of  Clarendon 
(1609-1674)  rose  from  the  position  of  a  country  gentleman  to  be 
Lord  Chancellor  of  England.  He  was  educated  at  Oxford,  and  then 
studied  law  at  the  Temple,  and  was  acquainted  with  Ben  Jonson, 
Selden,  and  other  men  of  letters.  He  gained  the  confidence  and 
friendship  of  Archbishop  Laud,  and  when  the  war  broke  out  he  was 
the  trusted  adviser  of  Charles  I.,  and  afterwards  of  Charles  II.  At 
the  Restoration  he  was  created  Chancellor,  but  he  fell  from  power 
in  1667,  and  in  retirement  in  France  he  wrote  his  '  History  of  the 
Rebellion,'  and  a  history  of  his  own  life.  The  language  of  both  works 
is  noble  and  stately,  and  Clarendon  shows  great  skill  in  the  delineation 
of  the  characters  of  the  men  of  the  time. 

Bishop  Burnet  (1643-1715)  was  the  son  of  a  Scotch  lawyer  who 
refused  to  take  the  oath  of  the  Covenant.  He  was  educated  at 
Aberdeen,  and  he  afterwards  visited  the  English  Universities,  and 
travelled  through  Holland  and  France.  He  was  then  made  Pro- 
fessor of  Divinity  at  Glasgow,  and  with  Archbishop  Leighton  he 
endeavoured  by  peaceable  means  to  bring  all  the  Presbyterian 
clergy  within  the  Episcopalian  Church. 

He  was  one  of  the  chaplains  of  Charles  II.,  but  his  very  plain 
speaking  caused  him  to  lose  all  court  favour,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
withdraw  to  the  Continent  in  1684.  He  settled  at  the  Hague,  and 
his  advice  was  of  great  service  to  William  of  Orange,  with  whom  he 
returned  to  England  in  1688.  After  the  Revolution  he  was  made 
bishop  of  Salisbury.  He  opposed  pluralities  in  the  Church,  and  he 
was  one  of  the  chief  agents  in  founding  Queen  Anne's  Bounty. 
His  chief  works  were  the  '  History  of  His  Own  Life '  and  the 
'  History  of  the  Reformation.' 

Isaak  Walton  (1593-1683)  kept  a  linendraper's  shop,  first  in  the 
Royal  Exchange,  then  in  Fleet  Street,  and  then  in  Chancery  Lane. 
When  the  war  broke  out  he  retired  from  business,  and  spent  most  of 
his  time  in  the  families  of  eminent  clergymen,  by  whom  he  was  much 
beloved.  The  five  charming  little  biographies  which  Walton  wrote 
are,  with  one  exception,  the  lives  of  English  clergymen.  His  chief 
work  is  '  the  Compleat  Angler,'  which  was  first  published  in  1653. 
Five  other  editions  were  published  during  the  author's  lifetime,  and  it 
grew  in  length  from  thirteen  chapters  to  twenty-one. 

John  Bunyan  (1628-1688)  was  the  son  of  a  tinker  at  Elstow  near 
Bedford,  but  the  family  of  the  Bunyans  had  been  peasant  free- 
holders in  the  county  from  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century.  At  the 
age  of  sixteen  Bunyan  entered  the  army,  but  whether  on  the 
side  of  the  King  or  Parliament  is  not  known.  Soon  afterwards  he 


' 


592       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

married  a  poor  but  godly  woman,  and  he  became  a  great  frequenter 
of  the  church.  But  a  change  came  over  him  :  his  life  appeared  to 
him  to  be  unspeakably  wicked,  and  he  suffered  a  long  and  terrible 
agony  of  spirit  before  he  found  peace. 

In  1653  he  joined  a  Nonconformist  congregation  in  Bedford,  and 
four  years  later  he  was  himself  a  preacher.  At  the  Restoration 
Nonconformist  meetings  were  forbidden,  and  Bunjran  was  arrested. 
The  authorities  wished  to  deal  gently  with  him,  but  he  would  not 
promise  to  cease  preaching,  and  he  was  kept  a  prisoner  till  1072. 
His  confinement  was  by  no  means  strict,  and  he  was  allowed  to 
preacli  in  prison.  During  this  time  he  wrote  and  published  several 
works,  of  which  '  Grace  Abounding,'  his  spiritual  autobiography, 
was  one.  Whether  the  first  part  of '  Pilgrim's  Progress '  was  written 
now  or  later  is  uncertain.  It  was  first  published  in  1678,  and  the 
second  part  in  1684.  When  Bunyan  was  released,  in  1672,  he  was 
licensed  as  a  preacher,  and  he  became  a  minister  in  Bedford.  He 
exercised  a  supervision  over  surrounding  congregations,  and  was 
often  called  Bishop  Bunyan.  His  fame  as  a  preacher  was  very 
great,  and  enormous  congregations  gathered  to  hear  him  in  London. 

His  other  chief  works  were  'The  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  Badman  ' 
and  the  '  Holy  War.'  In  all  he  wrote  and  published  nearly  sixty 
works. 

John  Dryden  (1631-1700)  was  the  inaugurator  of  a  new  age,  an 
age  of  prose  and  reason  rather  than  of  lofty  imagination.  He  was 
born  in  Northamptonshire,  and  his  father  possessed  a  tiny  estate  in 
the  county,  which  the  poet  retained  all  his  life  through.  He  was  a 
pupil  under  Dr.  Busby  at  Westminster,  and  he  afterwards  went  to 
Cambridge,  but  he  retained  little  love  for  that  University. 

His  first  considerable  poem  was  a  noble  eulogy  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well, but  two  years  later  he  wrote  '  Astraea  Redux,'  as  a  welcome  to 
Charles  II.  In  1667  he  wrote  '  Annus  Mirabilis,'  describing  the 
Dutch  War  and  the  Fire  of  London  of  1666. 

He  had  also  by  this  time  taken  to  play- writing,  and  during  his 
life  he  produced  nearly  thirty  plays,  but  no  masterpiece.  Most  of 
these  plays  were  in  the  rhyming  heroic  metre  of  the  French  theatre, 
which  Sir  William  Davenant's  *  Siege  of  Rhodes  '  had  made  fashion, 
able  in  this  country. 

Dryden's  most  famous  plays  of  this  kind  were  the  '  Indian 
Emperor,'  '  The  Conquest  of  Granada,'  and  *  The  Royal  Martyr.' 
They  are  filled  with  swelling  bombastic  speeches,  and  they  were 
cleverly  parodied  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  in  1671  in  '  The 
Rehearsal.'  Dryden  about  this  time  wrote  an  elaborate  essay  on 
Dramatic  Poesy,  in  which  the  characters  of  Shakspere  and  Ben 
Jonson  are  finely  sketched. 

In  1681  Dryden  wrote  his  brilliant  satire  *  Absalom  and  Achito* 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    593 

phel,'  and  its  accompanying  satires,  'The  Medal,'  and '  MacFlecknoe,' 
in  which  he  bitterly  attacked  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  and  his 
adherents.  In  1682  he  wrote  '  Eeligio  Laici,'  a  fine  poem  in  defence 
of  the  Church  of  England ;  but  five  years  later  he  had  become  a 
Eoman  Catholic,  and  he  wrote  '  The  Hind  and  the  Panther,'  in 
which  the  Church  of  England  is  represented  as  fierce  and  inexorable 
towards  all  other  Churches. 

At  the  Eevolution,  Dryden  lost  all  his  posts  and  pensions,  and 
was  obliged  to  depend  upon  the  labours  of  his  pen.  During  the 
twelve  remaining  years  of  his  life  he  did  much  excellent  .work, 
especially  his  translation  of  Virgil  and  his  adaptations  of  Chaucer. 
His  magnificent  ode  *  Alexander's  Feast '  also  belongs  to  this  time. 

In  London  the  young  poets  looked  upon  him  with  reverence, 
and  he  sat  as  a  king  in  Will's  Coffee  House  in  Covent  Garden.  He 
died  on  May  Day  in  1700,  and  he  was  buried  with  much  pomp  in 
the  Abbey. 

John  Locke  (1632-1704)  was  a  fellow-pupil  with  Dryden  at 
Westminster.  He  then  went  to  Oxford,  and  1660  he  was  Greek 
lecturer  for  his  College.  In  1666  he  became  acquainted  with  the 
Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  and  a  friendship  ensued  which  lasted  till  the 
earl's  death.  He  was  tutor  to  the  earl's  only  son,  chose  a  wife  for 
him,  and  carefully  educated  his  children. 

In  1682  Shaftesbury  fled  to  Holland,  and  Locke  soon  followed, 
and  remained  there  till  the  Eevolution,  when  he  returned  to  Eng- 
land in  the  train  of  the  Princess  of  Orange. 

During  his  stay  on  the  Continent  Locke  composed  his  famous 
*  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,'  and  it  was  published  in  1690. 
His  first  letter  '  On  Toleration,'  and  his  '  Two  Treatises  on  Govern- 
ment,' and  also  his  interesting  work  '  On  Education,'  were  published 
about  this  time. 

Locke  now  retired  on  account  of  health  from  London  to  a  pleasant 
retreat  in  Essex,  where  he  enjoyed  cheerful  society,  and  yet  was 
well  within  reach  of  London.  In  conjunction  with  some  of  the 
leading  statesmen  he  gave  much  attention  in  these  years  to  the 

Question  of  the  coinage,  and  also  to  that  of  the  linen  manufacture  of 
reland. 

Locke  was  a  pious  Christian  man,  and  he  wrote  several  theo- 
logical works,  but  they  are  now  seldom  read. 

The  Age  of  Queen  Anne  has  been  compared  to  the  Age  of 
Augustus  and  to  that  of  Leo  X.  The  rival  political  leaders  were 
patrons  of  learning ;  Montague  befriended  Congreve  and  Prior  and 
Addison,  while  Bolingbroke  was  the  warm  friend  of  Swift  and  his 
companions,  Arbuthnot,  Gay,  and  Pope.  Arbuthnot  was  a  witty 
Scotch  physician,  who  wrote  the  '  Memoirs  of  Martinus  Scriblerus ' 

4  QQ 


594       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

and  the  '  History  of  John  Bull.'  Gay  wrote  many  poetical  works, 
of  which  the  chief  were  the  *  Fables '  and  the  '  Beggar's  Opera.' 
Addison,  like  Swift,  was  surrounded  by  his  circle  of  friends  who 
met  daily  at  Button's  Coffee  House,  and  admired  and  praised  each 
other's  works,  and  by  doing  so  they  aroused  the  jealousy  and  indig- 
nation of  Pope.  Eustace  Budgell  wrote  some  of  the  '  Spectators.' 
Ambrose  Philips  was  the  author  of  several  plays  and  poems,  and 
Tickell  wrote  a  very  fine  poem  on  the  death  of  Addison. 

Swift  was  born  in  Dublin,  but  was  of  English  extraction.  At 
school  and  college  he  was  an  idle  student ;  but  after  leaving  the 
University  he  spent  ten  years  in  the  family  of  Sir  William  Temple, 
and  there  wrote  two  of  his  most  famous  works,  the  '  Battle  of  the 
Books  '  and  the  '  Tale  of  a  Tub.' 

After  Temple's  death  in  1699,  Swift  spent  ten  or  twelve  years  as 
a  country  clergyman  in  Ireland,  but  paid  frequent  visits  to  England, 
and  took  a  keen  interest  in  politics.  The  three  years  from  1710  to 
1713  he  spent  in  London,  and  was  the  confidential  adviser  of  Harley 
and  Bolingbroke.  On  the  downfall  of  the  Tories  in  1714  he  retired 
to  Ireland  to  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's,  and  from  that  time  he 
seldom  left  Ireland. 

He  was  a  fierce  champion  of  Ireland's  rights  against  English 
oppression,  and  he  gained  the  love  and  reverence  of  the  Irish. 
During  this  period  of  his  seclusion  he  wrote  '  Gulliver's  Travels,' 
the  finest  of  all  his  works. 

The  story  of  Swift's  life  is  closely  linked  with  that  of  '  Stella,' 
to  whom,  it  is  believed,  he  was  secretly  married,  and  whose  death 
in  1728  caused  him  great  agony. 

Steele  and  Addison  were  born  in  the  same  year,  and  were  lifelong 
friends.  They  were  fellow-pupils  in  the  Charterhouse,  and  together 
they  went  to  Oxford.  Steele  left  the  University  suddenly,  entered 
the  Life  Guards,  and  wrote  several  plays.  Addison  became  a 
Fellow  at  Oxford,  then  travelled  on  the  Continent,  and  on  his 
return  he  gained  praise  and  preferment  by  writing  the  '  Campaign.' 

Steele  was  appointed  Gazetteer  in  1706,  and  in  1709  he  started 
the  '  Tatler,'  and  much  of  his  finest  work  is  in  it.  His  papers  on 
women  and  children  are  especially  beautiful. 

Addison  contributed  about  forty  papers,  and  there  was  universal 
regret  when  the  '  Tatler  '  ceased  in  Jan.  1712.  Two  months  later 
the  *  Spectator  '  was  commenced,  and  the  two  friends  bore  each  an 
equal  share  in  writing  it.  After  the  '  Spectator  '  came  to  an  end, 
the  '  Guardian '  was  brought  out,  and  a  little  later  Steele  brought 
out  the  '  Englishman,'  and  Addison  the  '  Freeholder.'  Addison 
died  in  1719,  and  Steele  lived  for  another  ten  years,  but  wrote 
nothing  more  of  special  excellence. 

Pope  was  bom  in  1688.     He  was  a  delicate  child,  who  very  early 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE     595 

showed  his  taste  in  poetry.  His  first  great  poem  was  the  '  Essay 
upon  Criticism,'  which  Addison  warmly  praised.  Then  in  1712  he 
wrote  his  dainty  poem,  the  '  Eape  of  the  Lock,'  and  he  then 
acquired  fortune  and  fame  by  translating  Homer. 

His  great  success  excited  the  envy  of  inferior  writers,  and  in 
answer  to  their  attacks  he  wrote  the  '  Dunciad,'  of  which  three 
books  were  published  in  1728. 

Pope  then  wrote  the  '  Essay  on  Man,'  addressing  it  to  Boling- 
broke,  whose  philosophical  views  the  poem  appears  to  be  intended 
to  express.  He  afterwards  wrote  a  series  of  poetical  '  Moral 
Essays,'  and  his  last  great  work  was  a  fourth  book  of  the 
'  Dunciad.' 

The  philosopher  Berkeley  was  born  in  Kilkenny  in  1689.  He 
spent  the  years  from  1700  to  1713  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and 
there  wrote  three  of  his  chief  works,  the  '  New  Theory  of  Vision,' 
the  '  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,'  and  the  '  Dialogues  between 
Hylas  and  Philonous.'  In  the  two  latter  works  he  unfolded  his 
great  doctrine  that  matter  does  not  exist. 

In  1713  he  came  to  London,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  chief 
men  of  letters,  and  he  then  spent  some  years  in  Italy.  Next  he 
returned  to  Ireland,  and  was  made  Dean  of  Derry.  Then  in  1729 
he  went  to  America  to  promote  a  scheme  for  converting  the 
Indians,  but  he  returned  disappointed  in  1732.  While  in  America 
he  wrote  the  '  Minute  Philosopher.' 

The  rest  of  his  life,  except  the  few  closing  months,  he  spent  in 
Ireland  as  Bishop  of  Cloyne.  His  last  work  was  '  Siris,'  a  treatise 
on  the  virtues  of  tar  water. 

Lady  M.  W.  Montagu  was  born  in  1690.  Her  education  was 
superintended  by  Bishop  Burnet.  In  1712  she  married  Edward 
Wortley  Montagu,  who  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Constantinople. 
She  accompanied  him,  and  wrote  home  a  series  of  most  interesting 
letters,  chiefly  to  her  sister,  but  a  few  of  them  were  to  Pope,  who 
was  then  her  friend. 

After  her  return  to  England  she  became  a  neighbour  of  Pope  at 
Twickenham,  but  they  quarrelled  and  became  bitter  enemies.  In 
1739  she  went  abroad  once  more,  and  till  nearly  the  end  of  her  life 
lived  in  Italy.  Her  letters  from  Italy  to  her  daughter  have  been 
preserved,  and  many  of  them  are  most  interesting. 

Horace  Walpole,  another  famous  letter  writer,  was  born  in  1717. 
He  travelled  on  the  Continent  with  the  poet  Gray,  but  a  disagree- 
ment arose  between  them  and  they  parted  at  Venice.  A  few  years 
later  they  were  friends  again.  After  his  return  to  England  he 
bought  a  pretty  villa  at  Twickenham,  which  became  a  great 
gathering  place  for  wits  and  men  of  letters.  His  descriptions  of 
passing  events  in  his  letters  to  various  correspondents  are  very 

QQ2 


596       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

) 

amusing  and  satirical.     He  wrote  the  '  Cfrstle  of  Ofcranto,'  *  Anec- 
dotes of  Painting,'  and  a  few  other  works. 

Bishop  Butler,  born  in  1692,  showed  by  his  letters  to  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke  that  while  he  was  still  a  young  man  the  idea  of  his  great 
work,  the  '  Analogy,'  was  occupying  his  mind.  In  1718  he  was 
appointed  preacher  at  the  Rolls  Chapel,  and  fifteen  of  his  sermons 
have  been  preserved.  The  first  three  '  On  Human  Nature '  have 
been  greatly  praised. 

The  '  Analogy '  was  written  during  seven  years  of  seclusion  in 
Durham.  The  work  attracted  the  attention  of  Queen  Caroline,  and 
Butler  was  made  Bishop  of  Bristol,  and  afterwards  of  Durham. 
His  Charge  to  the  Clergy  of  that  diocese  is  his  latest  work. 

The  poet  Gray  was  born  in  1716,  and  was  educated  at  Eton  and 
Cambridge.  After  travelling  on  the  Continent  with  Walpole  he 
returned  to  Cambridge,  and  lived  there,  except  for  a  few  short 
intervals,  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

His  famous  '  Elegy  '  was  completed  in  1750,  and  he  had  written 
the  poem  on  the  *  Prospect  of  Eton  College,'  as  well  as  a  few  other 
odes.  A  few  years  later  he  wrote  the  '  Progress  of  Poetry,'  the 
'  Bard,'  and  other  poems,  but  none  of  them  approached  the  '  Elegy ' 
in  excellence.  Good  judges  have  preferred  his  letters  before  m's 
poems. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  while  poetry  was 
almost  ceasing,  prose  romance  rose  to  great  excellence.  The  first  of 
the  novelists,  Daniel  Defoe,  was  a  great  pamphleteer,  and  did  not 
produce  his  masterpiece,  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  till  he  was  nearly  sixty 
years  old. 

Samuel  Richardson  was  a  printer,  who  did  not  produce  the  first 
of  his  three  great  novels  till  he  was  fifty  years  old.  The  second  of 
his  novels,  '  Clarissa  Harlowe,'  is  the  greatest,  and  in  its  highly- 
wrought  pathetic  scenes  it  has  probably  never  been  equalled. 

Henry  Fielding,  the  greatest  of  the  novelists,  wrote  many  plays, 
but  few  of  them  were  of  any  special  merit.  His  first  romance, 
'Joseph  Andrews,'  was  intended  as  a  satire  on  Richardson's 
'  Pamela.'  Sophia,  the  heroine  of  Fielding's  second  novel,  and 
Amelia,  the  heroine  of  the  third,  are  portraits  of  his  first  wife. 

Tobias  Smollett  was  a  young  Scotch  surgeon  who  came  to 
London  in  1740.  He  went  as  surgeon  in  the  expedition  against 
Carthagena,  and  there  gained  the  materials  for  his  inimitable 
sketches  of  seamen.  '  Roderick  Random,'  '  Peregrine  Pickle,'  and 
*  Humphrey  Clinker  '  are  his  best  novels. 

Lawrence  Sterne  was  born  at  Clonmel  in  1713.  His  father  was 
an  ensign  in  a  foot  regiment,  and  it  is  thought  that  traits  of  his 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    597 

character  are  preserved  in  Mr.  Shandy  and  in  Uncle  Toby.  Sterne 
had  relations  holding  high  positions  in  the  Church,  and  through 
their  interest  he  was  ordained  and  obtained  a  living  in  Yorkshire. 

The  first  two  volumes  of  '  Tristram  Shandy '  were  published  in 
1760,  and  other  volumes  followed  at  intervals  till  Sterne's  death  in 
1768.  His  '  Sentimental  Journey  '  is  almost  as  famous  as  '  Tris- 
tram Shandy.'  Yorick,  and  Uncle  Toby,  and  Corporal  Trim  are 
some  of  the  most  original  creations  in  our  literature. 

Johnson  was  a  sickly  child,  and  was  all  his  lifetime  strangely 
afflicted.  He  came  to  London  in  1737  to  gain  a  living  by  literature, 
and  for  years  the  struggle  was  almost  a  hopeless  one.  During  this 
period  his  chief  works  were  his  two  satires,  '  London '  and  the 
'  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes ; '  the  '  Eambler,'  and  the  '  Dictionary.' 
In  1762  he  received  a  pension  of  300Z.  from  the  king.  In  later 
years  he  wrote  the  *  Lives  of  the  Poets.' 

Boswell's  acquaintance  with  Johnson  began  in  1763,  and  from 
that  time  forward  we  have  a  marvellous  picture  of  Johnson  and  of 
the  friends  who  surrounded  him. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  was  born  in  1728,  and  his  father  was  a  poor 
village  pastor  in  Ireland.  He  made  poor  progress  in  Dublin 
University,  and  he  was  sent  to  study  medicine  in  Edinburgh  and 
Leyden.  He  then  travelled  through  various  parts  of  Europe,  and 
came  to  London  without  a  penny  in  1756.  During  the  next  few 
years  he  wrote  several  works  of  considerable  merit,  but  the  first 
which  attracted  general  notice  was  his  poem  '  The  Traveller.'  Two 
years  later,  in  1766,  the  *  Vicar  of  Wakefield  '  appeared,  and  in 
1770  'The  Deserted  Village.'  Goldsmith  also  wrote  two  fine 
comedies,  *  The  Good-natured  Man '  and  '  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.' 

Gibbon  was  born  in  1737  at  Putney.  He  was  a  sickly  child,  and 
amused  himself  with  reading,  devouring  immense  masses  of 
historical  and  geographical  knowledge.  He  went  to  Oxford,  but 
gained  little  there,  and  was  withdrawn  suddenly,  as  he  had  turned 
Roman  Catholic.  His  father  then  sent  him  to  Lausanne,  and  in  this 
pleasant  place  he  spent  from  choice  many  years  of  his  after  life. 

The  idea  of  writing  the  '  Decline  and  Fall '  broke  upon  his  mind 
in  Rome  in  1764,  but  the  first  volume  was  not  published  till  twelve 
years  later.  The  sixth  and  final  volume  was  finished  in  Lausanne 
in  1787.  Besides  the  '  Decline  and  Fall,'  Gibbon  wrote  an  auto- 
biography, an  extremely  interesting  work. 

Cowper  was  born  in  1731.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  a 
child,  and  he  has  recorded  his  grief  at  her  loss  in  one  of  his  finest 
poems.  He  was  educated  for  the  bar,  and  while  he  was  a  young 
man  he  devoted  himself  to  literary  pursuits  of  a  trifling  nature. 
In  1763  his  mind  gave  way,  and  the  whole  course  of  his  life  was 


598       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

changed.  When  his  reason  was  restored  he  was  placed  by  his 
friends  in  lodgings  in  Huntingdon,  and  he  there  became  friendly 
with  the  Unwins. 

Mrs.  Unwin  watched  over  him  with  a  mother's  care,  and  she 
incited  him  to  the  writing  of  his  first  volume  of  poems,  the  '  Moral 
Satires.'  Lady  Austen,  another  friend,  incited  him  to  write  the 
*  Task,'  which  is  a  much  finer  poem,  and  she  also  told  him  the  story 
of  '  John  Gilpin.' 

Cowper  also  translated  the  '  Iliad  '  and  the  '  Odyssey,'  but  they 
did  not  add  greatly  to  his  fame.  He  was  one  of  the  best  of  letter 
writers. 

Edmund  Burke  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1729,  and  was  a  fellow 
student  with  Goldsmith  in  the  University  of  Dublin.  He  came  to 
London  in  1750,  and  published  his  first  two  works  in  1756.  In 
1765  he  was  appointed  private  secretary  to  Lord  Buckingham,  and 
from  that  time  till  1794  he  sat  in  Parliament.  He  was  warmly 
attached  to  Johnson  and  Goldsmith. 

In  Parliament  his  most  eloquent  speeches  were  made  on 
American  and  East  Indian  affairs,  and  he  was  one  of  the  chief 
conductors  of  the  State  prosecution  of  Warren  Hastings.  He  was 
a  resolute  opponent  of  the  principles  of  the  French  Kevolution,  and 
his  greatest  work,  the  '  ^Reflections  on  the  Kevolution  in  France,' 
is  filled  with  passages  of  splendid  eloquence.  He  died  in  1797. 

Eobert  Burns  was  born  in  1759  in  a  humble  cottage  near  Ayr. 
His  father  was  a  worthy  man  who  had  a  long  and  sore  struggle 
with  poverty,  and  he  is  lovingly  described  in  '  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night.'  The  earliest  poems  of  Burns  are  love  songs  and 
humorous  satires  on  the  '  Auld  Light '  clergy.  His  poems  were 
published  in  1786,  and  he  paid  a  visit  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  was 
feasted  and  made  much  of  for  a  time.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  was 
then  a  boy,  saw  him,  and  in  later  years  described  him.  After 
leaving  Edinburgh,  Burns  settled  as  a  farmer  near  Dumfries,  and 
then  gave  up  farming  to  become  an  exciseman.  In  his  last  years 
his  chief  works  were  '  Tarn  o'  Shanter  '  and  a  number  of  beautiful 
songs.  He  died  in  1796. 

William  Wordsworth  was  born  at  Cockermouth  in  1770.  In  one 
of  his  later  poems,  *  The  Prelude,'  he  gives  an  interesting  picture 
of  his  life  at  school  and  at  Cambridge,  and  also  of  his  travels  in 
France. 

In  1795  he  settled  with  his  sister  Dora,  in  Dorset  and  began  to 
write  poems.  In  1797  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Coleridge,  and 
in  1798  they  published  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads.'  The  finest  poem  in 
the  volume  is  the  one  entitled  'Lines  composed  above  Tmtern 
Abbey.'  Words  worth  and  his  sister  then  visited  Germany,  and 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    599 

there  *  Lucy  Gray  '  and  several  of  his  finest  minor  poems  were 
written.  To  1802  belong  some  of  his  finest  sonnets,  especially  the 
one  on  '  Westminster  Bridge.'  *  The  Prelude  '  was  then  written, 
but  was  not  published  during  the  poet's  lifetime;  but  '  The  Excur- 
sion,' a  poem  in  nine  books,  was  published  in  1814.  '  The  White 
Doe  of  Rylstone,'  '  The  Waggoner,'  and  the  '  Ode  on  Intimations  of 
Immortality '  are  poems  belonging  to  these  years.  Wordsworth's 
last  beautiful  poem  was  written  in  1818,  but  he  himself  lived  till 
1850. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  born  in  1772,  in  Devonshire.  He 
lost  his  mother  at  an  early  age,  and  he  was  sent  to  school  at 
Christ's  Hospital,  where  Charles  Lamb  was  his  schoolfellow.  In 
1791  he  went  to  Cambridge,  and  a  few  years  later  became  a  friend 
and  fellow-worker  with  Southey.  In  1795  he  married,  and  the 
next  year  published  his  first  volume  of  poems.  In  1797  he  became 
the  neighbour  and  friend  of  Wordsworth,  and  they  planned  and 
wrote  the  *  Lyrical  Ballads.'  He  then  visited  Germany,  and  on  his 
return  began  to  write  for  the  press.  His  course  of  life  was  then 
for  many  years  very  unsettled  and  miserable,  but  in  1816  he  found 
a  peaceful  refuge  at  Highgate,  where  in  1834  he  died.  In  these 
later  years  he  wrote  '  Biographia  Literaria,'  '  Aids  to  Reflection,' 
and  other  prose  works  treating  of  philosophy  and  religion. 

Robert  Southey  was  born  in  1774,  at  Bristol,  and  spent  most  of 
his  childhood  with  an  aunt  who  gave  him  a  very  early  acquaintance 
with  the  drama.  During  his  youth  and  early  manhood  he  was  an 
ardent  lover  of  liberty  and  a  well-wisher  of  the  French  Eevolution. 
His  first  epic  poem,  'Joan  of  Arc,'  was  published  in  1796,  and  in 
later  years  he  wrote  '  Thalaba,'  '  Madoc,'  '  The  Curse  of  Kehama,' 
and  '  Roderick.'  He  twice  visited  Lisbon,  and  his  great  love  for 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  literature  and  history  is  shown  in 
a  number  of  prose  works.  His  biographies  of  Nelson,  Wesley,  and 
Cowper  are  perhaps  his  best  works.  He  lived  for  many  years  at 
Greta  Hall  in  Keswick,  and  died  there  in  1843. 

Scott  was  born  in  Edinburgh  in  1771,  and  in  a  fragment  of  auto- 
biography he  has  given  a  pleasant  picture  of  his  childhood.  His 
father  was  a  Writer  to  the  Signet,  and  he  himself  was  called  to 
the  bar  in  1792.  His  summer  holidays  were  spent  in  excursions 
through  the  Border  country,  and  '  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border  '  (1802)  was  his  first  considerable  work.  Then  followed  his 
three  great  poems,  '  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  '  (1805), 
'  Marmion  '  (1808),  and  '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  '  (1810).  '  Rokeby  ' 
and  other  poems  followed,  but  they  showed  a  decline  in  excellence. 
'  Waverley  '  was  published  in  1814,  and  then  followed  in  quick 
succession  the  great  novels  on  which  Scott's  fame  rests.  His  latter 


600       HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

years  were  rendered  miserable  by  business  troubles,  and  his  last 
novels  have  little  merit.  He  died  in  1832,  and  his  life  has  been 
beautifully  written  by  his  son-in-law,  Lockhart. 

Byron  was  born  in  1791,  at  Aberdeen,  and  on  the  death  of 
a  grand-uncle  he  became  Lord  Byron  and  possessor  of  Newstead 
Abbey  in  1798.  He  was  educated  at  Harrow  and  Cambridge,  and 
in  1807  he  published  his  first  volume  of  poems, '  Hours  of  Idleness,' 
which  was  savagely  criticised  in  the  '  Edinburgh  Review.'  In 
response  he  wrote  '  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers '  in  1809. 
He  then  went  on  his  travels,  and  on  his  return  wrote  two  cantos  of 
c  Childe  Harold,'  which  at  once  made  him  famous ;  and  then  there 
appeared  in  quick  succession,  '  The  Giaour,'  *  Bride  of  Abydos,' 
and  other  metrical  tales,  all  of  which  contained  passages  of  great 
beauty.  In  1815  he  married  Miss  Milbanke,  but  within  a  year 
they  were  parted,  and  Byron  took  his  last  leave  of  England.  The 
third  canto  of '  Childe  Harold  '  and  the  drama  of  '  Manfred  '  were 
his  earliest  works  after  leaving  England,  and  were  composed  on  the 
shores  of  Geneva,  where  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  Shelley.  He 
then  settled  hi  Venice,  and  wrote  the  fourth  canto  of 'Childe  Harold' 
and  the  early  cantos  of  '  Don  Juan.'  This  poem  was  his  last,  and 
was  left  unfinished  when  he  died  in  1823. 

Shelley  was  born  in  1792,  and  belonged  to  a  wealthy  Sussex 
family.  He  was  educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  but  was  expelled 
from  the  university  on  account  of  his  atheistical  opinions.  His 
first  considerable  poem, '  Queen  Mab  '  (1813),  is  a  work  of  immature 
genius;  his  next, '  Alastor,'  is  full  of  solemn  beauty,  and  was  written 
while  the  poet  was  expecting  an  early  death.  '  The  Revolt  of  Islam ' 
(1818)  is  the  poet's  dream  of  a  new  society  where  all  oppression  is 
ended.  From  1818  till  his  death  in  1822  Shelley  lived  in  Italy, 
and  there  produced  his  three  greatest  works,  'The  Cenci,'  'Pro- 
metheus Unbound,'  and  *  Adonais.'  The  last  is  an  eloquent  lament 
over  John  Keats. 

Thomas  Carlyle  was  corn  in  1795,  at  Ecclefechan  in  Dumfries- 
shire. In  his  '  Reminiscences  '  he  has  given  a  beautiful  picture  of 
his  parentage  and  education.  He  was  intended  for  the  ministry, 
but  in  1817  he  finally  determined  not  to  enter  on  that  calling,  and 
devoted  himself  first  to  teaching,  and  then  to  literature.  His  first 
works  were  on  the  subject  of  German  literature,  and  in  1827  the 
first  of  his  well-known  critical  reviews  appeared  in  the  'Edinburgh.' 
'  Sartor  Resartus  '  was  written  in  the  solitude  of  Craigenputtock. 
In  1834  he  came  to  live  in  London,  and  in  1837  '  The  French  Revo- 
lution,' the  most  perfect  of  his  works,  was  published.  '  Cromwell* 
(1845)  and  *  Friedrich '  (1864)  were  two  other  historical  works  of 
excellent  merit.  Carlyle  died  in  1881 


BRIEF  OUTLINE   OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    60 1 

Ckarles  Dickens  was  born  in  1812,  and  suffered  great  hardships 
in  his  childhood,  which  he  has  described  in  '  David  Copperfield.' 
His  first  published  story  appeared  in  1833,  and  in  1836  this  and 
other  stories  were  published  as  '  Sketches  by  Boz.'  '  Pickwick '  and 
'  Oliver  Twist '  quickly  followed,  and  Dickens  became  the  most 
popular  writer  in  England.  From  this  time  till  his  death  in  1870, 
novel  followed  novel  in  quick  succession,  and  his  unfinished  novel, 
'  Edwin  Drood,'  shows  little,  if  any,  failing  of  power. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray  was  born  in  1811,  in  Calcutta,  but 
was  sent  to  England  while  he  was  a  child,  to  be  educated.  He  went 
from  the  Charterhouse  to  Cambridge,  and  then  for  a  time  to  Weimar 
and  Paris.  After  his  return  he  began  to  write  comic  stories  and 
satirical  sketches  in  '  Fraser's  Magazine '  and  in  *  Punch,'  and  in 
1846  his  first  great  work,  '  Vanity  Fair,'  came  out.  '  Pendennis,' 
'Esmond,'  'The  Newcomes,'  and  'The  Virginians'  appeared  in  later 
years.  In  1859  the  '  Cornhill '  was  established  with  Thackeray  as 
editor,  and  he  wrote  for  it  '  Philip '  and  the  pleasant  '  Eoundabout 
Papers.'  Thackeray  died  in  1863. 

John  Kuskin  was  born  in  London  in  1819.  '  Prseterita,'  his  latest 
writing,  is  a  very  beautiful  record  of  his  childhood  and  education. 
In  1837  he  went  to  Oxford,  and  in  1843  the  first  volume  of  his 
'  Modern  Painters  '  appeared.  In  later  years  he  wrote  many  fine 
works  011  art,  of  which  the  chief  are  *  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture  ' 
and  '  Stones  of  Venice.'  He  was  an  ardent  disciple  of  Carlyle,  and 
in  'Unto  this  Last,'  'Crown  of  Wild  Olive,'  '  Fors  Clavigera,'  &c., 
he  enforces  and  develops  his  master's  teaching. 

Alfred  Tennyson  was  born  in  1809.  He  was  educated  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  then  returned  to  his  mother's  house  and  gave  himself 
up,  like  Wordsworth,  to  poetry.  His  first  volume  of  poems  appeared 
in  1830 ;  then  a  second  in  1833.  In  1847  '  The  Princess,'  which  is 
one  of  his  most  beautiful  poems,  appeared,  and  three  years  later  '  In 
Memoriam,'  which  is  the  noble  record  of  his  friendship  for  Arthur 
Hallam.  In  1859  the  '  Idylls  of  the  King '  appeared,  and  this  is 
generally  regarded  as  the  poet's  masterpiece. 

Robert  Browning  was  born  in  1812,  in  Camberwell.  When  he  was 
a  youth  he  was  an  ardent  lover  of  Shelley,  and  in  his  first  published 
poem,  '  Pauline,'  he  pays  him  reverent  homage.  In  1835  '  Para- 
celsus,' the  history  of  a  soul,  appeared,  and  gained  enthusiastic  praise 
from  a  few.  '  Sordello,'  which  is  also  the  history  of  a  soul,  is  the 
most  abstruse  of  Browning's  works.  '  Pippa  Passes '  (1841)  was 
the  first  poem  which  gained  popular  favour,  and  during  the  next 
few  years  a  great  number  of  beautiful  short  poems  was  published 
with  the  title  '  Bells  and  Pomegranates.'  From  1846  until  his  wife's 
death  in  1861  Browning  lived  in  Italy.  His  greatest  work,  '  The 


602        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 

Ring  and  the  Book,'  is  a  wonderful  presentment  of  a  story  of  Italian 
crime.     Browning  died  in  December,  1889. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  was  founded  in  1802  by  Sydney  Smith, 
Jeffrey,  and  Brougham.  Jeffrey  became  editor  next  year,  and  under 
his  guidance  the  Review  became  a  great  power.  There  is  an  inter- 
esting account  of  Jeffrey  in  Carlyle's  '  Reminiscences.' 

The  Quarterly  was  started  in  1808,  in  opposition  to  the  '  Edin- 
burgh.' Gifford  was  the  editor,  and  Scott  and  Southey  were  among 
the  chief  contributors. 

Tom  Moore  (1779-1852)  was  the  friend  and  biographer  of  Byron. 
He  was  also  a  witty  song- writer.  His  greatest  work  is  the  Oriental 
romance,  '  Lalla  Rookh.' 

Samuel  Rogers  (1763-1855)  was  a  poet  of  refined  taste,  and  his 
poems  were  very  beautifully  illustrated  by  Turner  and  Stoddart. 
His  treatment  of  Italian  legends  is  very  beautiful. 

Charles  Lamb  (1775-1835)  was  a  school-fellow  with  Coleridge  at 
Christ's  Hospital.  He  was  a  clerk  for  many  years  in  the  South 
Sea  House.  He  wrote  poems  and  a  tragedy,  but  the  one  work 
which  will  live  is  the  delightful  collection  of '  Essays  of  Elia.' 

Thomas  Campbell  (1777-1844)  spent  several  years  of  his  youth 
as  a  tutor  in  the  Western  Highlands,  and  there  wrote  '  Glengara ' 
and  *  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter.'  He  wrote  '  Pleasures  of  Hope  '  in 
1799,  and  visited  Germany  next  year.  On  his  return  he  wrote 
'  Hohenlinden '  and  other  stirring  martial  poems.  In  1805  he 
received  a  pension  of  200?.  from  the  Government.  In  1809  he  pub- 
lished *  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,'  a  poem  which  Washington  Irving 
greatly  admired.  For  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was  engaged  in  various 
kinds  of  literary  work,  lectured  on  poetry,  edited  '  Specimens  of 
British  Poets,'  and  was  editor  of  the  *  New  Monthly  Magazine.' 

Leigh  Hunt  (1784-1859)  was  imprisoned  for  two  years  for  writing 
a  stinging  satire  on  the  Prince  Regent.  He  gained  the  friendship 
of  Byron  and  ShoDey,  and  in  later  tunes  he  was  a  neighbour  and 
friend  of  Carlyle.  He  wrote  one  or  two  volumes  of  poems,  and 
several  prose  works,  of  which  the  best  is  his  *  Autobiography.' 

John  Keats  (1795-1821)  was  passionately  fond,  when  a  youth,  of 
Spenser  and  Chapman.  He  learnt  no  Greek  at  school,  but  no  poet 
has  caught  the  spirit  of  Greek  legend  more  truly  than  he  has  in 
*  Endyinion  '  and  '  Hyperion.'  He  died  in  Italy,  of  consumption. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  (1800-1859)  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  orators  at  Cambridge,  and  became  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
writers  in  the  '  Edinburgh.'  He  entered  Parliament  in  1830,  and  in 
1833  he  went  out  to  India  to  discharge  important  duties.  After  his 
return  he  wrote  the  articles  in  the  'Edinburgh1  on  'Clive'  and 
'  Warren  Hastings,'  and  then  gave  himself  up  to  the  writing  of  his 
'History  of  England.' 


BRIEF  OUTLINE  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE    603 

John  Henry  Newman  (1801-1890)  went  to  Oxford  and  became 
the  soul  of  the  '  Oxford  Movement.'  Matthew  Arnold  and  others 
bear  witness  to  the  magical  influence  of  his  sermons  preached  in 
St.  Mary's.  He  was  the  editor  of  the  '  Tracts  for  the  Times,'  and 
the  writer  of  the  famous  Tract  XC.,  with  which  the  series  closed.  In 
1845  he  joined  the  Church  of  Borne.  In  1864  he  wrote  the  '  Apo- 
logia,' an  eloquent  vindication  of  his  sincerity  in  his  change  of  faith. 

John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873)  was  educated  by  his  father,  and 
read  Herodotus,  Plato,  and  Xenophon  before  he  was  eight.  He 
was  a  friend  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  and  was  an  ardent  advocate  of 
the  Utilitarian  system  of  philosophy.  He  took  great  delight  in 
Wordsworth's  poetry  and  in  Carlyle's  early  works.  His  own  chief 
works  were  his  '  Logic  '  (1843),  '  Political  Economy  '  (1848),  and 
'Liberty'  (1859).  His  'Autobiography'  was  published  after  his  death. 

Charles  Darwin  (1809-1882)  accompanied,  in  1831,  the  Beagle, 
as  naturalist,  in  a  voyage  round  the  world.  After  his  return  he 
published  his  '  Journal  of  Eesearches,'  and  this  was  the  foundation 
of  all  his  later  work.  In  1859  his  great  work,  '  On  the  Origin  of 
Species,'  was  published,  marking  a  great  epoch  in  the  history  of 
science.  In  1871  he  published  '  The  Descent  of  Man,'  which  is  in 
some  respects  an  even  more  startling  work. 

James  Anthony  Fronde  (1818-1894)  was  at  first  a  disciple  of 
Newman,  but  afterwards  of  Carlyle.  His  '  Nemesis  of  Faith,'  pub- 
lished in  1848,  marks  the  great  turning-point  of  his  life.  From 
that  time  he  maintained  himself  by  literature,  writing  articles  in 
'  Fraser '  and  in  the  '  Westminster.''  In  1856  the  first  two,  and  in 
1870  the  last  two  volumes  of  his  great  '  History  of  England  '  were 
published.  He  has  been  accused,  and  with  some  justice,  of  care- 
less inaccuracy  in  the  use  of  his  materials.  In  1872  he  published 
his  history  of  '  The  English  in  Ireland.'  After  Carlyle's  death  he 
edited  the  *  Keminiscences '  and  '  Letters  of  Mrs.  Carlyle,'  and  wrote 
in  four  volumes  the  '  Life  of  Carlyle.' 

George  Eliot  (1819-1880)  did  for  the  Midland  counties  of 
England  what  Scott  did  for  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland,  Her  first 
work  of  fiction  was  '  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,'  and  in  1859  *  Adam 
Bede,'  which  is  her  masterpiece,  appeared.  'The  Mill  on  the 
Floss  '  appeared  next  year,  and  '  Romola '  and  other  novels  fol- 
lowed. George  Eliot  was  a  poetess  as  well  as  a  novelist. 

Matthew  Arnold  (1822-1888)  was  when  a  youth  brought  under 
the  influence  of  Wordsworth  in  Westmoreland  and  Newman  at 
Oxford.  In  1849  his  first  volume  of  poems  was  published,  and  in 
1852  a  second  volume.  Many  of  the  poems  are  extremely  beautiful, 
but  they  have  not  the  depth  of  imagination  of  those  of  Tennyson 
and  Browning.  Arnold's  prose  writings  are  by  many  preferred 
'  before  his  poetry.  Of  these  prose  works  the  best  are  '  Essays  in 
Criticism  '  and  '  Literature  and  Dogma.' 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  ENGLISH  WRITERS 

WITH  TITLES  OF  THEIK  CHIEF  WORKS. 


BJEDA  (673-735} 

^Ecclesiastical  History 


Pastoral  Care 
Chronicles  of  Orosius 
Translation  of  Bceda's  History 

(990-996) 
Homilies 
WRITERS     OF    SAXON     CHRONICLE 

(891-1121) 
ORMIN  (1200  ?) 

[II  I.  IH 

LAYAMON  (1200?) 

BISHOP  LE  POOR  (1200  ?) 

Ancren  Riwle 
NICHOLAS  DE  GUILDFORD  (1250  ?) 

The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale 
EGBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER  (1270  ?) 

Chronicle  of  England 
EOBEHT  OF  BOURNE  (1260-1340?) 

Handlyng  Synne 

Chronicle  of  England 
THE  HERMIT  OF  HAMPOLE   (1290- 
1349) 

The  Pricke  of  Conscience 
SIR     JOHN     MANDEVILLE     (1300- 
1371  ?) 

The  Voiage  and  Travails 
JOHN  WYCLIF  (1320-1384) 

Translation  of  Bible 


JOHN  OF  TREVISA  (1387  ?) 
Chronicle  of  the  World 

JOHN  BARBOUR  (1316-1395) 
The  Bruce,  1375 

WILLIAM  LANQLAND  (1332-1400  ?) 
Piers  Plowman,  1362-1390 

GEOFFREY  CHAUCER  (1340-1400) 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose 
Boke  of  the  Duchesse,  1369 
Parlement  of  BridJes 
Canterbury  Tales,  1390 

JOHN  GOWER  (1325-1408) 
Confessio  Amantis,  1393 

JOHN  LYDOATE  (1373-1460) 
Storie  of  Thebes,  1480  ? 
Fall  of  Princes 
Troy  Boke 

JAMES  I.  OF  SCOTLAND  (1394-1437) 
The  Kingis  Quhair,  1424  ? 

WILLIAM  CAXTON  (1422-1492) 

Historyes  of  Troye 
SIR  THOMAS  MALORY  (1470  ?) 

Le  Morte  Darthur 
STEPHEN  HAWES  (1506  ?) 

Passetyme  of  Pleasure 
JOHN  SKELTON  (1460-1529) 

Boke  of  Colin  Cloute 

Phyllyp  Sparowe 
WILLIAM  DUNBAR  (1465-1520) 

The  Thistle  and  the  Rose 

The  Golden  Terge 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE -OF  ENGLISH 


GAWEN  DOUGLAS  (1474-1522) 

JEneid  of  Virgil 
LORD  BERNERS  (1464-1532) 

Froissart's  Chronicle 
WILLIAM  TYNDALE  (1477-1536) 

Translation  of  New  Testament, 
1525 

Obedience  of  a  Christian  Man, 

1528 
SIB  DAVID  LYNDSAY  (1490-1557) 

The  Dreme,  1528 

The  Three  Estatis,  1540 

The  Monarchic,  1553 
HUGH  LATIMER  (1491-1555) 

Sermons 
JOHN.  KNoxjl5Q5-1572)r 

Historic  of  the  Reformation 
LORD  SURREY  (1518-1547) 

Translation  of  jffineid 
BOGER  ASCHAM  (1515-1568) 

Toxophilus,  1545 

The  Scholemaster,  1568 
SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  (1554-15861 
~^ 


JOHN  LYLY  (1553-160QJ 

EupKues^  1579  ~~ 

Euphues  and'  his  England,  1580 
EDMUND  jpEN8ER~(l5g2^IM9)~ 

The  Shepheards  Calender,  1579 

Faerie  Queene,  1590-1596 
RICHARD  HOOKER  (1554-1600)    ^ 

Ecclesiastical  Polity,  1594-1600 
CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE  (1564-1593) 

T^amburlaine^ISSS 
/Sffv   i     Faustus,I5S9 

My  The  Jew  of  Malta,  1590  ? 

Edward  II.,  1598 
1  WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  (1564-1616)_ 

.Henry  VI. 

Love's  Labour's  Lost 

Comedy  of  Errors 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 
Adonis  1593 


wo 

i  Vf™', 
\Lucr 
J  Mids 


ummer  Night's  Dream 


SHAKSPERE — continued 

Richard  III. 

Romeo  and  Juliet 

Richard  II. 

King  John 

Merchant  of  Venice 
-  Henry  IV. 

Henry  V. 

Taming  of  the  Shrew 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing 

As  You  Like  It 

Twelfth  Night 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well 

Measure  for  Measure 

Troilus  and  Cressida  * 

Julius  Ccesar 

Hamlet 

Othello 

Lear 

Macbeth 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 

Coriolanus 

Timon 

Pericles  of  Tyre 

Cymbeline 

Tempest 

Winter's  Tale 

Henry  VIII. 
SIR  WALTERJR^LEIGH  (1552-1618) 

The  Discovery  of  Guiana,  1596 

History  of  the  World,  161 


Essays,  1597,  1612,  1625 
Advancement  of  Learning,  1605 
History  of  Henry  VII.,  1620 

THOMAS  DEKKER  (1570-1637) 
Old  Fortunatus,  1600 

BEN  JONSON  (1573^16Ji7J_ 

Everu    Man  in  His   HumouT 


VoTpone,  1605 
The  Silent  Woman,  1609 
The  Alchemist,  ifiW^ 
Bartholomew  Fair,  1BH 
THOMAS  HEYWOOD 

A  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness,  \, 

1603 

Fair  Maid  of  the  West,  1617 
English  Traveller,  1683 


1  The  order  of   Shakspere's  plays  is  that  suggested  by  Professor 
Dowden. 


606       HANDBOOK  OP    ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


WEBSTER 

Vittoria  Corombona,  1612 
Duchess  of  Malji,  10-23 

BEAUMONT   AND   FLETCHEB  (1579- 

1025) 

Philaster,  1608 

.     The  Faithful  ShepJierdess,  1610 
^  The  Maid's  Tragedy,  1611 
PHILIP  MA8SINGER  (1583-1638) 

The   Great  Duke  of  Florence, 
1(527 

to  Pay  Ql 


TheVirgin  Martyr 
LORD     HERBERT     OF 

(1581-1648) 
History  of  Henry  VU 


CHERBURY 


1643 


GEORGE  HERBERT  (1593-1633) 
The  Temple,  1688 

BOIJERTJBURTON  (1576-1640) 


(1605-1682) 
gio_Medici,  1685 
~ 


Garden  of  Cyrus,  1658 
-^#  Urn  Burial,  1658 
IZAAK  WALTON  (1593-1683) 
The  Compleat  Angler,  1658 
Lives  of  Hooker,  Herbert, ~£c. 

JKKKM Y  TAYLOR  (1613-1667) 

•iy  < 
.  Lit 
Sermons 

JOHN  MILTON  (1608-1674L 
"  IT  Allegro,  1633T" 
II  Penseroso,  1638  ? 
Comus,  1684 


Libert    of  I'ro/ihfsying,  1647 
ving  and  Dying 


Pamphlets,  1641 
Areopagitica, 
Paradise  Z,os.fi67 
Paradise  Regained,  1674- 

ti<n>nson  Agonistes,  1671 
EARL  OF  CLARENDON  (1609-1674) 
History  of  the  Eebellion 

JOHN  BUNYAN  (1628-1688) 
Abounding,  1666 
Prowess,  1678 
,1682 


Is.uc  BARROW  (1630-1677) 


JOHN  DRYDEN  (1631-17Q01 
Annus  Mirabilis,  1667 
Absalom  and  Achitoi>Iirf, 
Hind  and  the  PantJ, 
Translation  of  Virgil,  1697 


JOHN  LOCKE  (1632-1704) 

Essay   on  the  Human   Under- 
'  standing]  TB90 
Treatises  on  Government,  1690 
Thoughts    concerning    Educa- 
tion, 1690 

BISHOP  BURNET  (1643-1715) 
~-~~]  History  of  His  Own  Time 

\  History  of  the  Reformation 
jJoHN  ARBUTHNOT  (1667-1735) 
^^\  Martinus  Scriblerus 

I  History  of  John  Bull,  1712 
JONATHAN  SWIFT  (1667-1745)        X 

/'uffTTZDj       ~-*v 
Battle  of  the  Books,  1704 
\Pamphlets, 

LDrapier's  Letters,  1724 
^Gulliver's  Tr<irrls,  1, 

JOSEPH  APDISON  (1672-1719) 
1T^  Campaif/n,  1704 
TatfZer  and  Spectator-— 
Freeholder,  1715 

RirnAi:i.  STKF-LK 
T^e  Christia 
Tatler,  1709 


Spectator, 

(1/tii 


ardian,  1718 

JOHN  GAY  (1688-1732) 
Beggars' ^er a,  172( 
Fables  - 

ALEXANDER  PopE_41688-lI4J5)_     S 

rsr&jM™*.,  17H  ^-^r 

Rape  of  the  Lock,  1712 
Translation  of  Homer,  1720 
Dunciad,  1728 
£ssay  ow  Afan,  1783-34 
MoraZ  Essays,  1733-34 

BISHOP  BERKLEY  (1685,-1753) 
J^e^  Theory  of  Vision,  1709 
Principjes  of    Hit  m  a  n    Know- 

ledt/r.  1710 
T/ir^e  Dialogues,  1713 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  ENGLISH  WRITERS  607 


BISHOP  BERKLEY — continued 
Minute  Philosopher,  1732 
Siris,  1744 
JC    DANIEL  DEFOE L  (1.6.61=1231) 

~ Journal  of  the  Plague 
Robinson  Crusoe^  1719. 
TJoloriel  Taclc^etc. 

v    SAMUEL  RICHARDSON  (1689-1 

Pamela,  1740 

Clarissa  ffarlowe,  1748 

Sir  Charles  Grandison,  1753 
LADY  M.  W.  MONTAGU  (1690-1762) 

Letters 
BISHOP  BUTLER  (1692-1752) 

Sermons 

The  Analogy  of  Religion,  1736 


_ 

Joseph  Andrews,  1742 

Tom  Jones,  1749 

Amelia,  1751. 
LAWRENCE  STERNE_(1713-1768) 

Tristram  Shandy,  1760-6JZ 

Sentimental  Journey,  1767 
THOMAS  GRAY  (1716-1771) 

Odes 

The  Bard,  1757 

legy,  1759_ 
SAMUEL  JOHNSON  (1709-1784). 

Vanity  of  Hitman  Wishes,  1749 

Rambler,  1750-52 

Dictionary,  1755 

Rasselas,  1759 

iz'utfs  o/^e  Poete,  1781 
HORACE  WALPOLE  (1717-1797) 

Letters 

Anecdotes  of  Painting,  1762-71 

TOBIAS  SMOLLETT  (1721-1771) 
"Roderick'  Random,  1748 

-  ---  Peregrine  Pickle,  175F 
Humphrey  Clinker,  1771 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  (1728-1774) 
Traveller,  1764 
F?^-  o/  Wafce/JeM,  1766 
T/ie  Good-matured  Maw, 
T7ie  Deserted  Village,  1770 
-S7*<?  Stoops  to  Conquer,  1773  ^ 

EDMUND  BURKE  (1729-1797) 

Tfte    Sublime    and    Beautiful^ 
1756 


EDMUND  BURKE  —  continued 

Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in 

France,  1790 

Letter  to  a  Noble  Lord,  1796 
Letters  on  a  Regicide   Peace, 

1796 

WILLIAM_COWPEB_(17»1-1800>- 

Moral  Satires,  1781 
The  Task,  1ZS5_ 
Translation  of  Homer 
EDWARD  GIBBON  (1737-1794) 

Decline  and  Fall,  1776-87,     - 
Autobiography 

ROBERT  BURNS  (1759-1796^          i 

Poems 
WILLIAM  WOEDSWOBTH  (1770-185Q) 

Descriptive  Sketches,  1793 
Lyrical  Ballads,  179&_ 
2V*e  Prelude, 
Excursion,  1814 


Boxdeia  Minstrelsy,  18Q2_ 
ia^  o/  £7je  ias^  Minstrel,  1805 
Marmion,  1808 
£ad?/  o/  ^Ae  iaA;e,  1810 
Waverley,  1814 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE  (1772- 
1834) 
—  frmns,  1796 

Ancient  Mariner,  1798 
JJeworse 

,  1817 


ROBERT  SOUTHEY  (1774-1843) 

Poems,  1794 

Joan  of  Arc,  1796 

Thalaba,  1801 

Metrical  Tales,  1805 

Cwrse  o/  Kehama,  1810 

Life  of  Nelson,  1813 
CHARLES  LAMB  (1775-1834) 

Essays. 
TOM  MOORE 

£aZZa  .Roofcfc,  1817 

i«/e  o/  Byron,  1830 
THOMAS  CAMPBELL  (1777-1844) 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  1799 

Hohenlinden,  1801 

Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  1809 

LEIGH  HUNT  (1784-1859) 
Autobiography 


6o8        HANDBOOK  OF  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE 


LORD  BYRON  (1788-|j&iL 
ours  of  Idleness,  1807 


tiliBurflx  anfTScoch   7,V- 


e  Harold,  1812-18 
Giaour,  Lara,  etc. 
Manfred,  1816 
Don'  Juan,  1H21-28 
PERCY    BYSSHE"  SHELLEY    (1792- 


Mai,  1813 


Revolt  of  Islam,  1817 
rcci,  1819 

rometheus  Unbound,  1819 
Adonais,  Ig21_ 
JOHN  'KEATS  (1795-1821J_ 
/•:.•-/.;/,.  '  ,  .  iHis 

'Hyperion,  1820 

THOMAS  CARLYLK  (1795-1881) 
"Life  of  Sell  ill  cr,  1825 
'Critical  Essays,  1827-44 
Sartor  liesartus,  1888-3J_ 
French  Revolution,  1887 
ivre*_on,HerQe.st  1840 
an3  Present,  1848 


T. 


Cromwell,  1845 


t/e  o/  Sterling,  1850 
Friedrich  II.,  1864 


Essays,  1825-44 
History  of  England,  1848-55 
J.  H.  NEWMAN  (1801-1890) 
Sermons 


J.  S.  MILL  (1806-1873) 

io^'c,  1848 

Political  Economy,  1848 
CHARLES  DARWIN  (1809-1882) 

Journal  of  Researches,  1889 

Origin  of  Species,  1859 

Descent  of  Man, 
AT.FRKD  TKNNYSON 


rocnis,  183U 

The  Princess,  1847 

wrin 
I,  1855 


ALFRED  TENNYSON—  continued 

Idylls  of  the  King,  \ 

Enoch  Arden,  \ 
W.  JL  TBACEERAY  (1811-1863) 

Vanity  Fair,  1846 

^endennis,  I85U 

Esmond,  1862 

1'Ae  Mewcomes,  1854 
CHARLES  DICKENS  (1812-1870) 

Sketches  by  ~Eoz,  1836 


wist,  1836 
Cappezfield,  1849 
ROBERT  BROWNING  (1812-1889) 


Paracelsus,  1885 

Stafford,  1886 

Bordello,  1840 

Pippa  Passes,  1841 

Mew  and  T;^O7^^e^^,  1855 

T//e  Eingandthe  Book,  1868-69 

Fifine  at  the  Fair,  1874 

JOHN  BUSKIN  (1819) 

Modem  Tainten.  ls43-»!0_ 
Seven  Liamps  of  Architecture, 

1848 

Stones  of  Venice,  1851-58 
Onto  <fe*s  i<wi,  1860 
Crown  of  Wild  Olive,  1866 
Fors  Clavigera,  1871 
Prceterita,  1885-89 

JAMES    ANTHONY    FROUDE    (1818- 

1894) 

Nemesis  of  Faith,  1848 
History  of  England,  1856-70 
English  in  Ireland,  1872 
Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects 
Life  of  Carlyle,  1882-84 
Oceana,  1886 

GEORGE  ELIOT  (1819-1880) 
—7tdnm~Bedey  1859 
Mill  on  the  Floss,  1860 
Bomola,  1868 
Daniel  Deronda,  1876 

MATTHEW.  AJJNOLI^  (1822-1888) 
Pot-nis,  1849-A-J 

••//.s  />?  Criticism,  1865 
Cult  tin-  a  nd  Anarchy,  1869 
Literature  and  Dogma 


Spottiswoode  A  Co.  Ltd..  Printers,  yew-street  Square,  tondon. 


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